Hallowed
by Shinysavage
Summary: Once upon a time, three brothers came up with a plan to change the world forever. Centuries later, wizards still fight over the scraps of their power. However, only one person can truly lay claim to their destiny. AU.
1. Godric's Hollow

**A/N:** You might think I'm insane to have started another story in the middle of a series, but this plot wasn't going away. Hopefully you'll enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it. Although I've been toying with the basic idea for a while, I finally decided to write this for Dark Lord Potter's September competition, where it placed first.

**Hallowed**

_Once upon a time, three brothers came up with a plan to change the world forever. Centuries later, wizards still fight over the scraps of their power. However, only one person can truly lay claim to their destiny. _

**Part 1: Godric's Hollow**

The sound of a child screaming in fear was far too common an occurrence these days. This time, James Potter had leapt out of his chair and drawn his wand almost before he had consciously registered the sound. He prowled to the window, lifting the curtain aside with the tip of his wand. On the other side of the street, a young woman was hugging her son as he cowered away from the ridiculous looking plastic scarecrow hanging from the lamp post. James rolled his eyes, and turned away with a faint smile.

"That kid should see a _real _Halloween," he said, replacing his wand in his back pocket. He sank back into the battered arm chair, grinning at the woman sitting across from him. "Bats and children in torn sheets – that's not Halloween."

"You're quite right, darling," the red-haired woman murmured, leafing through her novel without looking up. "Maybe next year you and Sirius should arrange the trick or treating, hmm?"

"I think that's a fantastic idea, actually," James said, watching her expectantly. His patience was rewarded; she looked up sharply, eyes narrowing in preparation for a familiar tirade. Her expression softened as she met his eyes, and she shook her head fondly.

"You'd scare all the children half to death, and we'd be run out of town by people with pitchforks and torches. We would singlehandedly restart witch hunting, shatter the Statute of Secrecy, and be exiled from the Wizarding World forever."

"I think you might be exaggerating a _tad_, Lily," James said, putting on a hurt expression. The sight of his drooping lip and wide eyes drew a giggle from his wife, and she put her book down on the coffee table next to her.

"I wish I could believe that, I really do. Let's be honest though – does Sirius even understand the basic idea behind restraint?"

"I'm not sure he knows how to spell it," James admitted. He leant back in the chair, stretching his legs out, crossed at the ankles in a position that managed to combine comfort, nonchalant style, and an excellent view of his new boots, which he was still prone to admiring in quieter moments. Knowing perfectly well what he was up to, Lily sighed and went to pick up her book once more. For a short moment, the only sounds were the crackle of burning logs and the rustle of well-thumbed pages. James' eyes drifted closed, sleep seeping over him slowly. He loved his new son dearly, but he would kill for a decent night's sleep.

As if the thought had been a conjuration, wails began to ring down the stairs. Lily dropped her book with a groan, and went to stand up. James waved her down, shaking his head. "I reckon this one's my turn, Lil. Relax for a change."

"Oh, you're a _star_," she said with a grateful smile. "I was just getting to the good bit too."

"Enjoy," he said, wandering out of the lounge. As he started to climb the stairs, he looked over the bannisters and called out to her: "The butler did it, by the way!" He broke out in a laugh as he hopped up a couple of steps, neatly dodging the Stinging hex that whizzed through the bannisters and impacted against the wall. "Love you, honey!"

Still chuckling, he walked into his son's room. Harry was standing up, supporting himself on the bars of his crib, and screaming as like only an angry baby could. His screwed up face was bright red, and his eyes were shut tight. James reached in and picked him up, cradling him against his shoulder.

"And what's up with you, little man? Not hungry are you? Don't want to disturb your mother if I don't have to…"

He paced back and forth in front of the window, humming softly to Harry. The sound and motion eventually worked their magic; before long, Harry was quiet again, resting his face in his father's neck. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the window, James realised he had an enormous grin on his face.

"Sirius would be ashamed of you, you soppy sod," he muttered to himself, still beaming. Gently bumping Harry up and down, he paused to look out of the window. There were no more kids in the street, their parents clearly having torn them away from the sweets and cheap scares. The realisation that, in a few years time, he might find himself taking Harry through the same rigmarole crossed his mind, and he frowned. It was a disadvantage of the mostly Muggle village that he had never considered before, and he vowed that Harry would certainly experience a proper Wizarding celebration as well as the quieter one.

All of a sudden, he noticed one lone reveller still walking the street. He had to admit, the man's costume was rather good, by Muggle standards; a very close approximation of an evil wizard. The pale skin was a bit cliché and unrealistic, but he supposed it would work for the children.

Then the man stopped outside the Potter's house, and James took a startled step back. He had seen that face before.

He practically ran from the room, trying to achieve an impossible mix of stealth and haste as he did so – Voldemort had shown supernatural awareness of his surroundings on other occasions, and it would be suicidal to assume otherwise now. He finally came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, and peeked through the little glass window at the top of the door. The pale wizard was still standing at the gate, almost serene. What was he waiting for?

"Lily!" James hissed. "Come here!"

His wife appeared at the door to the living room, a confused expression on her face. "James? What's wrong? What on earth are you doing?"

"He's here. We've got to get out," he told her brusquely. Shifting his hold on Harry to support him with just his left hand, he drew his wand.

"Who's here? What are you talking about?"

"Voldemort," he said. Lily blanched, and she hurried to her husband's side, looking out of the window herself. She crouched down behind the door, her hand to her mouth.

"Oh God. Oh _God_, what do we do?"

"We get the fuck out of here," James replied, taking her hand. Trying to marshal his whirling thoughts into something coherent, he brought up the image of Sirius's flat in his head. Holding it in his mind's eye, he tried to Apparate.

There was a distinct lack of pressure. He opened his eyes, and groaned at the familiar sight of his own front hall.

"He's warded us, hasn't he?" There was no questioning tone to Lily's words: just a flat resignation. The sound of it fired something deep inside James, and he thrust Harry towards her.

"Yeah, but fuck him. Take Harry upstairs, get a message to Dumbledore." He paused, taking another look through the glass. The Dark Lord was walking slowly up the path, a pale length of wood held loosely in his hand. "I'll hold him down here as long as I can."

"James, no!" Lily grasped his arm, looking up at him pleadingly. "Please, you don't need to do this!"

"Yeah, I really do," he said, running his free hand over her hair. "Just make sure Harry's safe, ok?"

"James,-"

"Please."

The finality in his voice brooked no argument; with one last fleeting glance at him, Lily ran upstairs. James hurried away from the door, taking up a position behind the doorframe to the dining room. As he heard the door to Harry's bedroom click shut, Voldemort's face appeared in the glass of the door.

"_Confringo_!"

The front door exploded in a shower of splinters and a cloud of smoke. James quickly threw up a Shield spell; he knew that Voldemort was not going to go down so easily, but he could dare to hope that he had at least been injured, however slightly. There was no answering spell, and James edged forward cautiously. The smoke began to clear, and he waved his wand, conjuring a breeze to waft it away quicker. There was no sign of his opponent. James's brow furrowed in confusion. It surely couldn't have been that easy? He took another step, the smoke drifting behind him.

When it came, the curse struck him with enough force to launch him from his feet, and he slammed sideways into the living room. Sliding to the ground in a crumpled heap, James looked up, hastily straightening his glasses. The smoke that he had parted had reformed, and Voldemort stood before him, slowly coming together once more. James's blood ran cold; he hadn't even realised such a thing was possible. The vivid red eyes stared down at him, empty of anything even resembling emotion.

"I should offer you congratulations, Mr Potter," Voldemort hissed softly, and there it was; every last drop of anger that the eyes did not reveal. James pressed himself against the sofa, bracing himself for another assault. "Do you know how long it is since anyone actually managed to land a curse on me? You should be proud – you made me bleed."

He held up his hand, and James could not repress the smirk that crossed his face. Voldemort's stark skin was peppered with little spots of blood where the door fragments had torn into him.

"But of course, I have killed people for less…" Voldemort raised his wand, almost negligently, and then all James knew was pain. In all the time he had spent with the Order, he had somehow managed to avoid being hit with the Cruciatus. He had never really considered how lucky he was in that. It felt like a thousand knives stabbing into him at once, like fire blazing along his bones, like poison in every last inch of his veins, like…like nothing he could think of.

Abruptly, the pain ceased. James slowly raised his head, his vision spotty, his entire body aching, and blood dripping from his mouth and nose. He swiped his hand over his mouth, smearing red over his palm, and sent a hate-filled glare at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord, however, was ignoring him. His head was cocked, as if he could hear something familiar. A wide, sinister smile spread over his lips, and he looked back down at James.

"I'd forgotten you had a child, Potter. So young…what would you do, that I would spare him?"

"I'd rip your heart out through your chest, you piece of shit," James said, spitting blood and lunging for his wand. Voldemort laughed maliciously, and a wave of unseen pressure forced James flat to the ground, drawing a cry of pain from him.

"I admire your spirit, I suppose, futile as it is – but do not harbour any illusions. You are a child." Voldemort stepped closer, planting his foot in the small of James's back, keeping him pressed down. "You are a child," he repeated, "and I am going to kill you, and your wife, and your baby boy…if you do not do exactly as I command. Do you understand me?"

James was quiet for a long, long moment. When he finally spoke, it was just one word: "Yes," he said, hating himself for it. He knew he could do nothing else, but doing anything to appease the dark wizard was utterly abhorrent to him. He could only hope that Lily had got her message out.

"Excellent," Voldemort said, and James could hear the smirk in his voice. He felt something grip him, and he was spun round violently so that he faced the other wizard. Voldemort's red eyes bored into him, and he could not look away.

"Now. I require your Cloak of Invisibility. Where is it?"

James blinked, the hypnotic spell broken. "My cloak? What d'you want that for?"

Voldemort flicked his wand, and a bolt of light struck James painfully in the face. He grit his teeth against the pain, biting back another cry. "That is none of your concern; I want it, and you have it."

James shook his head, an irrepressible laugh bubbling out of him. "No. No I don't. It's not here, not anymore. I haven't had it for months now."

Voldemort's face creased with displeasure, and he twitched his wand once more. James was hauled from the floor, suspended in mid-air at eye-level with the dark wizard. For the first time, James realised with a start just how unnaturally tall his opponent was. Voldemort was barely human anymore, so much had he altered his own body.

"Do not play me for a fool, boy," Voldemort whispered. His eyes locked with James's, and there was a sudden pressure at the forefront of James's memory. He recognised the signs of Legilimency, and he reflexively responded, diverting the probe away as best he could. The effort left him breathless; Voldemort's will was far stronger than his own. The mere attempt seemed effective though; Voldemort snarled, flashing teeth that looked disturbingly like fangs.

"I _will _have that Cloak, if I have to tear this house apart to find it!"

"I don't think that will be necessary, Tom," a quiet voice sounded from the doorway behind them. James looked blearily over Voldemort's shoulder, and his spirits soared.

"Dumbledore!"

With a wordless snarl, Voldemort threw James from him, and he once more found himself curled against a wall. He lay there, dazed and wandless, watching the two wizards face off. Dumbledore flicked his eyes around the room, taking in the damage with a cursory glance.

"Was there really a need for this destruction, Tom? People do live here, you know. James, might I suggest that you attend to your good lady wife? I am sure she is rather distressed at present."

"I'll…I'll get right on that, sir," James managed, pushing himself up. Something shifted inside him, sending another spike of pain ripping through him, and he sank back to the floor with a groan. Dumbledore shot him a concerned look.

"Perhaps not then. Don't trouble yourself, my boy. All will be well."

James managed a feeble grin, and Dumbledore returned his attention to Voldemort. The dark wizard had not moved since the headmaster had arrived, but he looked ready for anything; there was a faint light hovering at the tip of his wand, and his bright eyes were fixed on every little movement Dumbledore made. He raised his wand hand, ever so slightly, at Dumbledore's eyes met his, and immediately James could see his fury, his _shame_ at his inadvertent display.

"You shouldn't have come here, Dumbledore," Voldemort spoke softly, running his fingers over his wand. "This does not concern you."

"I beg to differ," the old wizard replied, a glimmer of amusement in his blue eyes. "I rather think that everything you do concerns me. A great deal, as it happens." Without appearing to move, somehow Dumbledore drew attention to his hand. He was holding his wand casually, but obviously. "Now, where are we going from here, Tom? I see no need for further violence. If you surrender your wand now, I might be able to persuade the Aurors to be a little lenient on you."

A cold smile graced Voldemort's thin lips. "You wouldn't try, even if it were possible. Don't try and lie to me, _sir_." He spat the last word, as if it tasted foul.

Dumbledore bowed his head, a sorrowful expression passing across his face. "You may well be right, Tom." And with that, the old wizard's wand blurred. The space between him and Voldemort was filled with painfully white light; James threw his hand across his eyes, there was a cracking sound, and the room shook. When James lowered his hand, blinking rapidly, Voldemort had disappeared. Just behind the spot where he had been standing, the sofa had been torn in two, the ragged edges sizzling quietly, and half the wall had disappeared.

"I do apologise for the damage, James. I will of course make sure that it is rectified as soon as possible. If you will excuse me…" Dumbledore bowed to his former pupil, and strode forward, stepping through the debris lightly. James stared after him, and then fumbled for his wand. Grasping it tightly, he pushed himself to his feet and staggered from the living room. Behind him, through the hole in the wall, he could see vivid flashes of light in the kitchen as the two wizards exchanged spells. The stairs were a struggle for his still pain-wracked body, but he went as quickly as he could. As he reached Harry's room, there was a booming noise from below, and the sound of shattering crockery. Wincing, he hammered on the door.

"Lily! Lily, it's me, come on! Dumbledore's here…"

The door creaked open slightly, revealing the tip of Lily's wand and one of her bright green eyes. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she opened the door properly, letting her husband in. She was still pale with panic.

"What's happening? It sounds horrible! Are you ok?" She reached out, taking his shoulder. He gasped, another jolt of pain bursting through him, but he forced a smile.

"Never better, but I think the sofa's had it. Where's Harry?"

"He's here." She turned away, pulling open a cupboard to reveal their son. Somehow, he was still quiet, gurgling happily to himself. James scooped him up in one arm, and looked at his wife.

"Let's go."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The kitchen was filled with the sound of cooling tiles and superheated air. There wasn't a cupboard that wasn't scorched and broken, water was spurting from the missing tap, and broken plates and pans lay scattered everywhere. The oven melted as Voldemort batted Dumbledore's latest spell into it, and the dark wizard snarled, whirling his wand in a complex, rapid arc around his body. The broken plates leapt into the air, and went spinning towards the older wizard. Dumbledore merely tutted, and gestured dismissively with his own wand. The plates were snatched from their arc and repositioned in a spiral around the headmaster's body.

"Is that really the best you can do, Tom? I must confess, I'm a touch disappointed. I thought we'd taught you better than that at Hogwarts at least, never mind what you've studied in your own time. I was expecting something a little more challenging."

Voldemort let out a wordless snarl, and stabbed his wand forward. Green light burst from the tip, and the room was filled with an awful rushing of wind. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, and vanished with a pop of displaced air a mere heartbeat before the curse tore through the space he had occupied. The cupboard he had been standing in front of erupted in flames, and the broken plates fell to the ground with a crash. Voldemort paused, panting heavily.

He knew it was foolish to remain; Dumbledore hadn't managed to severely injure him – had barely touched him, in all honesty – but equally, the old bastard hadn't even broken sweat so far. Voldemort knew when he was outclassed, but he couldn't leave, not now. Not now Potter knew what he wanted. He didn't seem to know why, which spoke volumes for the man's ignorance, but that was irrelevant. If he left now, Potter would inevitably tell Dumbledore, and Dumbledore would know exactly why Voldemort wanted the Cloak. It would be put beyond his reach forever, if the headmaster had any say in the matter.

No. To leave – to _flee_, like a beaten dog – was not to be considered. The thought that Dumbledore, or even the Potters, might have summoned the Aurors crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. Unless they came en masse, they would fall before him as so many others had. He wasn't wounded, and Dumbledore was holding back, as he always did. He could still achieve his aims.

Emboldened by his decision, Voldemort prowled forwards, leaving the kitchen. The door was hanging from its hinges, pockmarked from spell-fire. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, for whatever that was worth. He moved onwards, standing in the centre of the hall, facing the front door.

"You belittle my magic, Albus, yet you aren't showing me what you can do either, are you?" Voldemort said, breaking the silence. He cocked his head, waiting for an answer, but none was forthcoming. "Where is the Albus Dumbledore of legend? You defeated Grindlewald without even trying, but you refuse to kill me. Why is that, hmm?"

"Who am I to make such a decision?" Dumbledore replied from behind him. Voldemort spun on his heel, a curse on the tip of his tongue, and a bolt of light leapt to life, crackling around the edge as it hissed through the air. Dumbledore was standing in the dining room, and he waved his wand; the grandfather clock that stood in the corner flew across the room to land in front of him. The curse impacted against it soundlessly. The glass and wood on the cover started to melt, and Voldemort raised his wand once more. Before he could cast again, the pendulum at the heart of the clock was shooting like an arrow towards him. He turned his planned curse into a Transfiguration; the pendulum split in two, the separate halves twisting and reshaping until two metal birds hung before him, all razor sharp talons and beaks. Another flick, and they turned and flew back towards Dumbledore.

The old wizard banished the grandfather clock at one, quick as a flash. The second he met with a column of fire; it melted the bird instantly, and carried on towards Voldemort. It struck him in the chest and threw him backwards, casting him out of the house. He landed in a heap on the lawn. The sound of footsteps told him that Dumbledore had followed.

"That's more like it, Tom," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "Not your best, of course, but a little imagination goes a long way. You have an admirable mind; it is a genuine tragedy that you have chosen to waste it in this fashion."

"Will you ever stop trying to teach me, Dumbledore?" Voldemort slowly climbed to his feet as he spoke, surreptitiously waving his wand behind him.

"I rather doubt it," Dumbledore replied. "A rather unfortunate habit of teachers, I'm afraid. We never stop seeing people as students." The headmaster's eyes hardened. "And you do have so much more to learn."

"Maybe so," Voldemort allowed, rolling his hand in one final gesture. "Not from you, however."

With his final word, the ground around him erupted, flying into the air. Grass and soil, stones and leaves; they all responded to his spells, coming together to form a serpent bigger by far than either Voldemort or Dumbledore. The headmaster took a step back, alarmed, and raised his wand in a defensive gesture. The serpent was not meant for him though. Under the Dark Lord's direction, it tore through the wall of the Potter's cottage, vanishing inside.

"Do you think they can cope with that?" Voldemort asked, malicious pleasure dripping from his voice. "I doubt it myself, but I await your view with interest."

Dumbledore looked over his shoulder, clearly torn. Voldemort could understand that feeling; there was no danger of the smouldering wound on his chest killing him, even if left untreated, but if nothing else the sheer amount of magic that had been used would be attracting legal attention even as they stood there. The Aurors would doubtless be here any second, and with his wound he was no longer certain of victory over a group. However much he wanted the Cloak, it was not worth capture. Inevitably, Dumbledore turned his back on Voldemort, hurrying back inside to deal with the serpent.

And Voldemort vanished, dissipating into black smoke.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

An hour later, Sirius Black was pacing up and down in front of his friend's cottage, occasionally waving his wand to repair some of the damage. He couldn't believe it; it was hardly the first time Voldemort had attacked someone personally, but that he would do it to someone Sirius knew, loved even…it was sobering. The thought that Lily and James – or, Merlin forbid it, little Harry – could so easily have died struck him deep. Turning his back on the cottage, telling himself that he didn't need the reassurance, that it was all for his friends sake, he looked for James and Lily, standing at the gate talking to some of the Muggle authorities. He knew that there would be at least one Obliviator standing next to them under an invisibility cloak, making sure that the Muggles heard little more than 'gas explosion', rather than 'astonishing display of magic'. Lily was still cradling Harry, who seemed remarkably unperturbed by it all.

They had arrived at his little flat in Oxford just over an hour previously, Apparating directly into his living room in defiance of all courtesy and common sense. He had quickly dismissed their apologies once the situation had become clear (and once he had apologised for setting James's hair on fire, a reflex response to unknown persons appearing in his personal space). They had arrived back mere moments after Voldemort had, apparently, fled. Dumbledore had been profoundly relieved that they had evaded the serpent Voldemort had created, but Sirius couldn't help but think the older wizard must have been incredibly frustrated to have given up the chance to take Voldemort down once and for all to save people who weren't actually there. Dumbledore would never say anything, of course, even if he did feel that way.

As Sirius watched, the Muggles James and Lily were talking to began to walk away, apparently satisfied with the explanation they had been given. His friends looked at a patch of empty air next to them, and Sirius was surprised to see Dumbledore appear from under a vanishing Disillusionment Charm. Lily hugged him, and set off towards the house, taking Harry with her. James hung back, apparently talking to Dumbledore about something. As he watched, Sirius frowned, confused; Dumbledore was still clutching his wand, and pointing it discretely at James. The wand tip glowed momentarily, and James stopped what he was saying, a blank look falling over his face. A moment later, he started talking again. Dumbledore smiled, and nodded, and clapped the younger man on the back. The gesture brought a smile to James's face, and he set off after Lily. Sirius called out to him as he walked past.

"Everything ok, James?"

"Yeah – well, all things considered, you know," his friend replied, shooting a look at the wreckage of his cottage. Sirius sympathised. The damage would take a couple of days at least to repair, and he wouldn't want to be living there in the meantime.

"You can always come to mine while everything's patched up, if you want," he offered.

"Thanks, mate, I appreciate that," James told him with a smile. "We'll be fine though. I'd rather stay here and make sure everything's ok."

"Fair enough," Sirius nodded. "Why do we think he was here, anyway?"

James shook his head. "Haven't a clue. Dumbledore reckons he just wanted us dead, that we've pissed him off too much for him to ignore. Pleasant thought, isn't it?"

"Something to be proud of, I guess," Sirius said. James grinned, and walked away, leaving Sirius to his own, troubled thoughts. The reasoning was perfectly sound; James and Lily were very active in the Order, and had been responsible for some stunning victories over Voldemort's followers. Something about it seemed off to him though, especially given Dumbledore's use of magic in his conversation with James. He was no expert, but he recognised a Memory Charm when he saw one being used.

"Is anything the matter, Sirius?"

Sirius looked up, startled. He hadn't noticed Dumbledore approaching. The older wizard was studying him with a penetrative gaze. Sirius shook his head.

"Nothing, sir. Just wondering why this happened?"

"Who can say?" Dumbledore replied with an expressive gesture. "James and Lily have certainly played their part in the fight against Voldemort, and he always was one to take such things personally. I doubt there is anything more to it than that."

"Then why did you need to Memory Charm James?" Sirius asked bluntly. He had never been any good at the word games Dumbledore so enjoyed. The headmaster raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"What on earth makes you think I would do such a thing?" he asked conversationally.

"I saw you," Sirius told him. "I know I did."

"Are you sure about that?" Dumbledore replied with a smile. Sirius opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, puzzled. What was he supposed to be sure about?

"I…I'm sorry, Professor. I think I tuned out for a moment there. What was I saying?"

"Don't trouble yourself, Sirius," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "It's been a long night, and I'm sure your friends could use some company. Why don't you go and see?"

"I…yeah, sure," Sirius muttered. "I'll see you later, sir."

Dumbledore watched the younger man go, his expression troubled. That Voldemort had been looking for the Cloak was unfortunate, but not a huge shock; he was knowledgeable, after all. The fact that he had been able to track it so far was of more concern. He had only found out the Cloak's path recently himself, and then only because James had pressed it into his hands. Did Voldemort have some other, more knowledgeable source? And if so, how long before he found the other Hallows?

His mind filled with dark thoughts, Dumbledore turned on his heel, Disapparating with a crack.


	2. Eleven Years Later

**Chapter 2: Eleven Years Later**

Harry Potter found King's Cross fascinating.

He had been raised in the Wizarding World, so he was well aware of the difference between Muggle and Magical life. His dad was highly sceptical of the quality of Muggle advancements, although never rude (possibly more out of respect for his wife than anything else). His mum though had been born in the Muggle world, and although more or less entirely cut off from that side of life these days – Harry had only met his aunt and uncle once, and was profoundly glad of this fact – she had made sure he was well up to speed on current events. Furthermore, he knew that it had been a longstanding tradition for students to travel to Hogwarts via the Hogwarts Express, and he knew that it took the form of an old-fashioned steam train.

The sheer amount of trains at the station was staggering though.

"I mean, they're more or less like flying carpets, aren't they?" Harry said, looking up at Lily as she led him through the crowds. She smiled down at him and nodded fondly, but her attention was mainly focussed on keeping track of where they were in relation to the portal.

"And we don't have many flying carpets, not now," Harry continued, a trace of sorrow in his voice. He had never seen a real flying carpet, although his dad had agreed to enchant the rug from their living room one afternoon; Lily had not been impressed, but Harry had been overjoyed by the sight of the slightly tattered and stained carpet doing loops in the back garden. "And if they've got more than us, that kind of makes them better…doesn't it?"

"That's a bit…simplistic, Harry," Lily told him. "Just because Muggles are better at one aspect of life doesn't make them better overall. They can't Apparate, for instance. We don't use flying carpets because we don't really need them – and Muggles don't need to hide their trains, do they?"

"I suppose not," Harry acknowledged thoughtfully. Things were never as simple as they first appeared, he was coming to learn. Of course, that was all part of the fun. He did find it incredible though that after centuries, the Magical world had resorted to such am obviously Muggle means of transporting their children around. He was looking forward to his own trip though; he had never been on a train before, and the Muggle ones around him looked a little scary. At least the older ones looked pretty, in an odd sort of way.

His father appeared next to them, whirling a pair of keys around a finger as he walked. "All parked up, Lily. The place is a bloody maze, I couldn't believe it. Nearly had to get my wand out –"

"James!" she hissed, glaring at him. "Would you keep your voice down?"

James rolled his eyes. "Don't be so paranoid. Nobody's listening." He made no further mention of his wand though, instead grinning down at Harry. "All set, kiddo?"

"Oh yes!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes lighting up behind his glasses. He was positively itching to get onto the train, where he would finally be able to use his wand again. His parents had been very strict about it – he had used it once in Ollivander's shop, and had not been allowed to touch it since. He had read through most of his textbooks at least twice though, and had skimmed a few of the books from his parent's library (he really hoped they didn't find out about that though. Lily in particular would not be pleased). He couldn't wait to show Ron some of the things he had learnt.

James laughed at his son's enthusiasm. "That's what I like to see!" He ruffled Harry's hair, grinning as the boy ducked away, flattening it with a scowl.

"Would you behave?" Lily asked. "We're here."

Instantly, Harry straightened up, eagerly looking around for the portal. It wasn't hard to find; the one pillar in the entire station that no-one was leaning against. He guessed that there was some sort of charm on it, although he had no idea what sort it could be. Maybe they would learn about it? Aside from its solitary positioning though, it was curiously uninspiring for such an important thing, and Harry said as much to his parents.

"Perhaps that's the point," James suggested. Harry paused for a moment, considering this intriguing possibility, and James shook his head. "Come on, in you go – take it at a run, that's my advice."

Harry nodded, gripped the trolley tight, and pushed forward, bracing himself for anything. As he passed through the portal, everything went icy cold, and he shivered. A second later though, and he emerged in bright sunlight on an exterior platform, wreathed in smoke. He wandered onwards, drinking in every possible detail. The Express was so red! He spun the trolley round, looking to see if his parents had followed him, and it bounced off someone's legs.

"Oh, sorry…" Harry trailed off at the pointed glare on the man's face. "Sorry, sir…"

"I should hope so," the man said. Harry nodded frantically; the man's august blue robes with gold stitching marked him out as an Auror. The Auror took Harry's bobbing head for an apology, and walked off, muttering to himself about 'bloody kids'. Harry could see the wand just peeking out from the sleeve of his robe, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.

"What was up with that Auror?" he heard his father say. Harry looked over his shoulder, relieved to see his parents standing there.

"Oh, I hit him with the trolley. A little," Harry amended his statement. "It was an accident?"

"I'm sure – although when you're denying something? Always try and sound sincere, it's a great help," James mentioned, winking at him. Harry flushed.

"It really was! I was looking for you, and I bumped into him!"

"I'm just teasing you, Harry," James said, shaking his head. His son was so easy to wind up sometimes. "Seen any of your friends?"

"No…" Harry said, looking around for friendly faces. His eyes lit up once more as he caught sight of a familiar shock of red hair, and he waved. The red-headed boy waved back, and came bounding over.

"Hey, Harry! It's really happening! We're finally going!"

Harry laughed, caught up in Ron's infectious enthusiasm. "I know, it's going to be brilliant!"

"And you're both going to be well behaved, of course?" Lily said, looking down her nose at the two boys. Ron flushed, while Harry looked insulted.

"I'm always good, mum. Ron's the trouble-maker."

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, poking his friend in the arm. "I am not a trouble-maker!"

"Are too," Harry said, sticking his tongue out.

"I bloody well am not!" Ron retorted. The look on his face as his brain caught up with what he had just said, and who he had said it in front of. He looked warily at Lily, who had a disapproving look on her face.

"What would your mother say if she heard you talking like that, hmm?"

"She'd be angry," Ron muttered.

"Yes, she would. I hope we're not going to hear that sort of language again, Ronald."

"No, Mrs Potter."

"Good lad. Where are the others?"

Ron brightened up, realising his chastisement was at an end. "They're over by the train. Fred and George were winding Ginny up."

"What a surprise," James said, shaking his head. "I'm guessing she's a little upset today?"

"A little, I think," Ron said hesitantly. "She wants to come with us."

"It's always like that," James said to Lily. "You should have seen Regulus for a couple of years after Sirius started at Hogwarts. Proper little whiner, he was. Or an affectionate younger brother, if you want to look at it like that," he quickly corrected himself, looking away from his wife. Harry snickered at the look of panic on his face.

"I despair of the lot of you," Lily said, throwing her arms up. "Come on, let's get your luggage on the train, Harry."

Harry grinned, and hurried off with the trolley towards the train. Ron grabbed his arm, pointing him in the direction of a particular carriage. "We're all in this one, mate. Come sit with us!"

Harry nodded obligingly, and followed his friend. Mrs Weasley was telling the twins off by the door, and she patted his head distractedly as he walked past, not even pausing for breath. He hopped up onto the train, and reached down for his trunk. James grabbed the other end, and helped him up with it. They found the compartment that the Weasleys' had claimed for their own, and manoeuvred the trunk into position on the rack. Hedwig's cage went by the window, and the owl hooted irritably at being disturbed.

"Ok. Got everything you need for the journey?" James said, looking down at Harry. Harry held up a plastic bag.

"Sandwiches, drink, and a book. I've got a bit of money for the sweet trolley as well."

"Excellent!" James said. He looked at his son, considering his next move carefully. He knew what Lily would say, of course, but he wasn't going to let that sway him – he knew Harry wouldn't be getting into trouble. Giving him the cloak now would be appropriate, but it was certainly useful for the Order work – not that there was much of that, these days.

In the end, tradition won out. His father had passed it on to him when he started at Hogwarts – although he would have been appalled at the uses his son had put it to – and it seemed only right to pass it on to Harry now. With a wave of his wand, James locked the door to the compartment, and darkened the windows. Harry looked up at him curiously.

"I want you to have this, Harry." He reached into his pocket, and withdrew the cloak, holding it carefully in front of his son. Harry's eyes widened in shock; he had seen the cloak before, but never been allowed to even touch it. Now, he reached out to take it, before stopping himself. James smiled. "It's ok, it's yours now. My father gave it to me when I was your age, and I'm giving it to you now. Just make sure you take good care of it, ok? And put it to good use."

"Oh, I'm never going to be out of the library, dad!" Harry breathed, taking the cloak. James sighed, and ruffled his son's hair as he folded the cloak up and placed it inside his bag. He looked up, eyes shining with gratitude. "Thank you. Really, thank you."

"Just don't tell your mum," James said, winking. Harry laughed, and nodded. "Speaking of, you should say goodbye to her. And make sure to write every now and again, won't you? You know what she's like."

"Don't worry, I'll write every week," Harry assured him. James flicked his wand, and light was restored, the door clicking open. Harry hurried from the compartment, but James stayed behind, taking one last lingering look at the train. He sighed wistfully, and then followed Harry from the train.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Ravenclaw!"

His new classmates greeted him with applause as he took the Sorting Hat from his head, handing it back to the stern professor quite eagerly. The Hat definitely confused him, even scared him a little. It had known him, better than his parents in some ways. Of course, so had Mr Ollivander, and he had been unsettling as well. He would love to know how the strange hat worked though. An enchantment of some sort? It couldn't actually be alive, of course, that was just crazy.

Mulling these thoughts over, he took a seat next to a blond boy who had been sorted earlier; Goldstein, he thought. The boy smiled at him, showing pearly white teeth, and held out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, the names Anthony."

"Harry Potter," Harry replied, shaking Anthony's hand and smiling. Any further conversation was cut off by a cough and a friendly yet meaningful look from an older boy further down the table, and they turned their attention back to the Sorting. Ron went to Gryffindor, greeted by the loudest cheers of anybody yet Sorted, which brought a happy grin to his face. His brothers greeted him enthusiastically as he sat down. Not long afterwards, the Sorting was over, and Professor McGonagall took her seat at the staff table. She was replaced by an instantly recognisable figure in shimmering robes, with startlingly blue eyes. Dumbledore looked out over the assembled students with a benevolent expression.

"Greetings to you all," he said, spreading his arms wide. "Welcome especially to our new first years! I look forward to seeing the wondrous magics you will no doubt create over your time at Hogwarts. There will be a few notices later, but for now, the important matters."

At another gesture from the Headmaster, the tables filled with food, almost bending under the weight of so many dishes. Harry had never seen so much food, and he didn't really know where to start. A quick glance to his left revealed a look of absolute astonishment on Anthony's face, and Harry smiled. "Neat, isn't it?"

"That is so cool! You can just conjure food like that?" Anthony said, staring up and down the table as he tried to decide which dish to go for first.

"Not really, no. It's all summoned from somewhere, I think. You can't conjure food, or at least not proper food…I don't know why though," Harry said, frowning. "My dad always just says 'because', but that doesn't really explain it. Anyway, _Hogwarts: A History _says that all the food is prepared in the kitchens by elves."

"_Hogwarts: A History_?"

"Oh, you haven't read it? It's brilliant! I'll lend it to you," Harry said, beaming. Anthony smiled slightly.

"Thanks! Do you know anything about the staff?"

Harry turned to look at the staff table, grabbing a bread roll to nibble on. He pointed to Dumbledore first of all. "Well, that's the Headmaster, obviously – he's a fantastic wizard, really clever. Then…oh, I think that's Professor Slughorn."

The man in question was sitting behind a vast plate of food, but paying little attention to it, having engaged the professor next to him in conversation. His cheeks were flushed, and he was waving a goblet of something energetically, causing his companion, a woman Harry didn't recognise, to lean backwards to avoid getting soaked.

"He looks like fun," Anthony commented enthusiastically. Harry nodded in agreement.

"I don't think my mum and dad like him though…but he can't be that bad, he wouldn't be teaching if he was."

"Don't be so sure of that," came a voice from the otherside of the table. The two boys both looked over to see an older student smiling at them. "You should probably eat more as well. You'll learn all about the staff soon enough, don't worry. Bradley Waterson, by the way. But yes, there are some staff you really need to look out for. Absolute swines, I promise you.

"Not Slughorn, be fair, Bradley," the girl sitting next to him said. "He might try and recruit you for his little club if you're any good though. Some of those parties can be really awkward."

Harry and Anthony looked at each other in confusion, and the girl pushed a platter of beef towards them. "Trust me, you'll be fine. Tuck in!"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

When the feast was over, Waterson and another girl led Harry and the other new Ravenclaws from the Great Hall. The more Harry saw of the castle, the more he fell in love with it. It really was like something out of the stories his mother had read to him when he was younger. Not to mention the sheer amount of…well, everything. They had one portrait at home, of his grand-parents, and he had heard a few stories from Sirius about his mother, but as they climbed higher, Harry could barely see the walls for pictures. Thousands upon thousands of wizards hanging there, and the vast majority of them were all calling out in greeting. He had never been subjected to so much noise. He waved at a jolly looking wizard who was sitting on a barrel, waving a mug of something at them. The wizard looked delighted at the response, and started to lean back as he roared with laughter. As Harry watched, he fell right off the barrel with a crash audible even over the clamour of the other portraits. Harry giggled, then looked round. The other new first years were getting ahead of him, and he scurried to catch up.

As he reached them, Waterson took a sharp turn off the main staircase, leading them off down a winding corridor lined with suits of armour and crests. There were fewer portraits here, and while they still greeted the new students amicably enough, they weren't as raucous as the ones Harry had just seen. As if influenced by their surroundings, Harry and his fellow students gradually stopped talking as they walked. It was now fully dark outside, but the sky was so clear that Harry simply couldn't believe it was natural, and the star light lit up the mountains for miles around. The corridor eventually branched past another, smaller flight of stairs, which Waterson headed up. At the top was a door without a keyhole or handle; there was however an eagle shaped knocker in the middle of it.

Waterson reached out and rapped the knocker against the wood three times, then stepped back. At once, a high, reedy voice began to echo from the door.

"Which came first, life, or magic?"

Waterson tilted his head in thought, pausing for a moment before offering his reply. "Life, the greatest magic of all."

"Nicely reasoned," the door replied, and swung open. Waterson led them in, a few of the students goggling at the talking door. Harry just repressed a sigh. He hated riddles.

Once inside, his jaw dropped, and he was far from the only one. The common room looked like something out of a Roman temple, all pure white stone and silk hangings. The ceiling was the exception, covered as it was in painted stars. Unlike the ceiling in the Great Hall, these did not move, but there was something beautiful about them regardless. Most of the rest of the decorations were tables or simply carved bookshelves, groaning under the weight of the thick tomes loaded onto them. A fire blazed in a grate underneath a statue of a regal, slightly intimidating looking woman who Harry assumed was Rowena Ravenclaw. Waterson had taken up position in front of the fire, smiling at them.

"If I could just have your attention a moment?"

Silence instantly fell, every eye in the room on Waterson and the girl.

"I'm Bradley Waterson, one of the Ravenclaw prefects. This is Eveline Mornay." The girl waved at them. "As you might have worked out by now, we're the students in charge of helping you settle in, and may I be the first to welcome you officially to Ravenclaw Tower!"

"We're sure you'll be very happy here," Eveline cut in. "This really is the best house. We've got a bit of a reputation for being stuck up, but that's not true at all."

"Absolutely," Bradley said, nodding to show his agreement. "You tell most people that you're in Ravenclaw, they assume you can't see further than the end of a book, but those people clearly haven't been paying attention to the Quidditch team, for a start!"

"You'll have to excuse Bradley," Eveline said in a stage whisper. "He's a little obsessed with Quidditch. It is true that we value studying and curiousity, and as you can see we tend to like books!" This drew a little ripple of laughter from the assembled first years. "We don't expect you to memorise your textbooks though, and we certainly don't want you looking down on the other houses!"

"Apart from over our Head of House," Waterson said with a grin.

"Oh, you'll love Professor Flitwick!" Eveline said. "You might have seen him earlier, he was sitting just next to the Headmaster, the…well, the short one. He's so funny, and so clever. He's really kind as well, always looking out for us – although on that note, I will say that if you do have a problem, we should be your first port of call. Unless it's a problem with us, heaven forbid!"

"You'll meet him in the morning, he'll be bringing you all your timetables. He teaches all the first years charms, as well; if you're lucky you'll get him throughout your time at the school," Waterson chipped in. "For now though, I recommend a good night's sleep. All your luggage will have been taken up, so all you need to do is pick a bed. Sleep tight, and have a fantastic time!"

The group dispersed, many of them yawning. Harry made his way up the stairs, eager to see his room. It did not disappoint, the same smooth stone and thick rugs, the beds covered in luxurious sheets. Best of all, the back of each four poster had shelves carved into them, clearly there for any books the students cared to read at night. His trunk had been placed next to a bed by the window; kicking his shoes off, he leapt onto the bed with a grin. Even his room at home hadn't been as cool as this!

At the entrance, another student entered, whistling in appreciation. Stocky, with dark brown hair and an easy smile, he waved in Harry's direction. "Isn't this great? Boot, by the way, Terry Boot."

"Harry Potter," Harry replied. "I can't wait to see the rest of the castle, I've heard so much about it!"

"It's incredible!" the other boy replied. "That ceiling…how do they do that? And the portraits, they're just mad!"

"I want to see the Library," Harry said wistfully. "It's the biggest magical library in the country, even bigger than the Ministry one. Something like thirty thousand books."

"Oh man, I could spend days in there!" Boot declared. The conversation was cut off by Anthony poking his head round the door, looking for his trunk. As he introduced himself, and further conversation ensued about the lessons, and the castle, and magic in general, Harry found himself drifting off to sleep, exhausted by the day's excitement. His new friends were following his lead, and the candles seemed to dim in response. As the last one winked out though, Harry sat bolt upright. Sliding out of the bed, he opened his bag. Underneath his book, and a few sweet wrappers from the train, lay the Cloak. It seemed to shimmer despite the darkness, and Harry took it out. Leaving it in the bag didn't feel right; it was far too precious to be left around like that. Clicking open his trunk, he laid the Cloak carefully inside. Closing the lid, he cast the locking charm his mother had taught him, and pushed the trunk under his bed.

Feeling much more content now, for some reason he couldn't quite lay his finger on, Harry Potter fell asleep.


	3. Halloween

**Part 3: Halloween**

"I still don't understand why we have to learn all this."

Harry sighed. A month into term and Anthony was still complaining about the Muggle Studies class. He himself found it quite interesting, and had said as much repeatedly. Right now, he stayed quiet, still trying to marshal the idea of electricity with magic. Certainly, the Muggle concept seemed more convenient than even the quickest spell, but it surely couldn't be as flexible?

"I mean, I know all about electricity! I'm a Muggle, for heaven's sake!"

Harry looked up at this, frowning. "No you're not. You're a wizard. A Muggle-born one, but a wizard."

Anthony waved a hand irritably. "You know what I mean. It's insulting that we have to learn this – half of it isn't even right!"

Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore wanted everyone to know as much as they could about the Muggle world. Maybe you can come back and teach it properly after we leave?"

Anthony paused, considering this. "You get a lot of holidays as a teacher, don't you?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah! Loads of them. I think Professor Quirrell goes off to other countries all the time. He went looking for vampires last summer, that's what I heard."

"Vampires?" Despite his dislike of the class, Anthony looked impressed. "Wow, that's really cool. Did he find any?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I hope so, I like him. It'd be nice if he'd managed it."

"He's alright, I suppose," Anthony said. "I just wish we didn't have to take the course."

"It's only been the last few years, I think," Harry said. "Something to do with Voldemort."

"Voldemort? Oh, right. Yeah, I know who you mean. What's he got to do with what we study?"

"Well, he…" Harry waved a hand vaguely. "He really doesn't like Muggles. Or even Muggle-borns, really. He started trying to kill as many of them as he could, and Dumbledore was fighting him. I think he thought that if we learnt about Muggles here, we might not join up with Voldemort. Nobody's heard anything from him for a couple of years though, as far as I know. He attacked my house once, you know?"

"No way, really?"

Harry nodded. "Yep. I was only a baby, I don't really remember it, but my dad held him off until Dumbledore arrived. That wasn't easy, Voldemort's really powerful."

"Cool," Anthony said, impressed. "Your dad must be an awesome wizard."

"He really is," Harry said, pausing at the stair-rail. The staircase was currently occupying a space on the other side of the tower, and they settled in to wait. "He's so good at Transfiguration; I want to be just like him. Better, if I can."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Anthony grumbled. "McGonagall doesn't give so many house-points to the Gryffindors as she does you, you know."

"That's not true," Harry replied, looking embarrassed. "That Granger girl pulls in a whole stack of them."

"Yeah, but she's just a know it all," Anthony said, rolling his eyes. Harry looked confused.

"What am I then?"

"Smart," his friend reassured him.

"I don't really see the difference…" Harry mumbled, but he didn't press the issue further. The stairs arrived, and they set off, making their way towards the Ravenclaw Tower. "Have you had any luck with the Defence homework?"

"No," Anthony said. "I still can't get that stupid spell to work. Underwood is going to kill me, I just know it."

"We can work on it later, if you want," Harry offered. "I think I've pretty much got it down now…"

"You sure? That'd be fantastic, thanks mate," Anthony replied, exuding gratitude. "I just can't get the movements right, I think. It's so stupid! How hard can it be to get two swipes and a jab right?"

"I think there's more to it than that," Harry said. Anthony frowned.

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted, looking annoyed. "It just doesn't make sense that all there is to a spell is a couple of words and a few hand waves. If that's all there was to it, they could just give us a book and say 'Right, have fun, see you for the exam'. Maybe it's something they teach later on?"

"Could be," Anthony said with a shrug. "I'm having enough problems with the stuff we're being taught to worry about that though, sorry."

Harry laughed, and the conversation switched to other topics.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

_Dear Harry,_

_Your mother and I will be away for a few days; just a little business trip, nothing for you to worry about…_

Harry read the letter in silence, unsettled by the letter more than he would care to admit. He wasn't an idiot; he wasn't supposed to know about his parents activities with the Order of the Phoenix, but he knew full well what his father meant by a business trip. Apart from anything else, his father didn't _have_ any other business. He had inherited enough wealth for them to live comfortably without working, if not as extravagantly as some of the other Pureblood families. The only possible business that could require both his parents presence was something for the Order.

If it was Order business, then that meant Voldemort.

He looked up at the staff table, hoping for some sign. Dumbledore was there, chatting amiably with Professor Flitwick in between mouthfuls of sausage. The tiny Charms master was waving one of his hands at the Headmaster, but there was no suggestion of anything to worry about. Sighing, Harry folded the letter and put it in his bag. He shouldn't be worrying, he told himself. He knew that his parents were both highly skilled, and that there weren't many things that could stop them. They would be fine. And even if they weren't, there wasn't much he could do about it. He stood up, grabbing some toast to eat as he walked, and set off for the library. His potions essay wasn't going to write itself, and Slughorn was still disappointed that Harry didn't seem to have inherited his mother's skill. Harry was sure that learning more about the ingredients would help him improve. Books had never failed him yet.

As the day wore on though, he gradually became aware of an entirely new sensation; the urge to throw a book through a window. He put the book down wearily. He knew everything it said about the ingredients – it made sense that wormwood would mix well with hellebore, and that rotweed reacted badly if mixed with pixie hairs, (and he had actually seen that reaction himself, on an evening Sirius had been babysitting and had brewed some potions to entertain his godson), but the book would not explain why. Surely, if he knew the basic principles of why ingredients worked, he ought to be able to make better potions. So far, his best attempt had only just made a passing grade, and that was not something Harry was used to.

He twirled his quill between his fingers idly, staring down at the notes he had taken. Maybe he was just looking in the wrong books? After all, not every book was useful in every situation. True, he had been looking through different books for several hours now, but the Hogwarts library was far, far bigger than it looked – Harry was convinced that some sort of expansion charm had been used – and there was certainly no shortage of books for him to look through. His luck couldn't stay this way forever.

He stood up, and suddenly realised that there were no other students around him. Curious, he wandered to the end of the next aisle, leaving his books scattered on the table behind him. There were no students to be seen anywhere, and even Madame Pince was away from her desk. He looked at his watch and swore. He was late for the feast! He ran back to his table, leaving the books where they lay but cramming his parchment into his bag. His first Halloween at Hogwarts, and he was still in the library. Ron was right, he really did need to drag his head out of his books every now and again.

Did he have time to dump his bag first? He checked his watch again, tutting to himself in frustration. He didn't want to have to lug his back into the feast, it just wasn't done, even for a normal evening meal. The Halloween feast...but then he would be even later. _I'm going to look an idiot anyway,_ he thought to himself. Glumly, he set off towards the grand staircase.

That was when he saw the stranger.

He had only been at Hogwarts for a couple of months, but he recognised most of the adults, at least. This man was definitely not a student, but Harry had never seen him before. And why would anyone be heading away from the hall tonight, of all nights? Intrigued, Harry edged forward. He could see the stranger's feet on the staircase heading upwards. Harry paused for a moment, thinking furiously. On the one hand, he didn't want to get involved in someone else's business – he knew that Dumbledore sometimes had meetings with politicians, for instance – and he didn't want to miss the feast. On the other hand, something about the stranger struck him as odd. Even odder than normal for Hogwarts. He took a deep breath, and took the stairs up.

He really wished he had brought his dad's cloak with him.

As he followed, keeping as far back as he could, he gradually realised what it was that seemed strange about the man. There was a sheen to him that Harry had never seen on any other person that he could remember. In fact, he looked more like the action figures his cousin Dudley had thrown at him the last time they had met than anything else. He knew his way around Hogwarts though; he didn't once stop to check a corridor, or pause at a landing – he knew his way around Hogwarts better than Harry did, that was certain. He had absolutely no idea where the man could be going.

Eventually, he turned off the stairs, heading down a corridor Harry had never used before. Harry hung back, peeking round the corner to watch. There was a gargoyle at the end of the corridor, flanked by two steadily burning torches. Its arms were folded, and a stern expression was etched into its gruesome features. The stranger stopped in front of it, and started to mutter, too quiet for Harry to hear. His curiosity burning, Harry crept closer.

The stranger had stopped speaking, and his wand had appeared in his hand without Harry noticing. He was twirling it idly between his fingers as he stood, perfectly still, in front of the gargoyle."I will say this once, and once only. I have little time, less patience, and no desire at all to stand here all night rattling off sweets until you move. You know who I am; you know what I am capable of. Stand aside, or I will destroy you."

Harry's heart froze as he realised once and for all that this was no ordinary visitor. He began to shuffle backwards along the corridor, desperate not to turn his back on the stranger. The gargoyle seemed to be smirking, almost challenging the man to do his worst, if he dared. The stranger let out a low hiss, and spoke once more.

"Alternatively, perhaps you know the password, hmm?"

Harry stopped dead, staring at the other wizard. Was he talking to him? The stranger turned around, and his eyes glowed red in the flickering light from the torches.

"I knew you were there from the start, boy. I must say, I admire your curiosity – you'll go far, if you use it wisely…now. What is the password?"

Harry blinked frantically, cold shivers of fear running down his spine. He couldn't stop staring at those eyes. "I…don't know," he stammered. "I don't even know where we are."

"Hm. A pity," the stranger said carelessly. "Then I have no further use for you. _Avada Kedavra_!"

Harry's eyes widened in recognition, the two most infamous words in the Wizarding world filling his ears. Without conscious thought, he dropped to the ground, a cold rush of air whipping through his hair as he moved. His fingers fumbled for his wand, almost paralysed with fear, while the stranger raised his wand once more.

And then two stone arms wrapped themselves around the stranger's chest, trapping his arms and raising him from the ground.

The gargoyle had abandoned his post, and now wrestled with the stranger. The wizard spat something unintelligible, animalistic, and deep cracks appeared in the gargoyle's arms. There was a shockingly loud noise, the sound of stone grinding against stone, and Harry realised that the gargoyle was screaming. He reached for his wand once more, but the gargoyle had grasped the stranger's robes in one hand, and now threw him against the wall. He hit with such force that mortar fell from the stones above him, coating him in a fine dust. He fell to his knees for a moment, and the gargoyle moved to stand over him, arms grinding slowly upwards to grab him once more.

The stranger raised his head, and the red eyes blazed with hatred. Another word, and the gargoyle erupted in flame. Harry almost laughed, because didn't the man know that stone wouldn't burn? He had not taken magic into account, although none of the various fires he had ever seen conjured would have harmed the ancient statue. There was another grinding scream as the gargoyle's horns began to melt under the inferno, and the gargoyle staggered back. A sudden wave of heat assaulted Harry's senses, and he crawled backwards. The stranger gave a vicious flick of his wand, making no recognisable wand motions that Harry could see, and one of the gargoyle's arms was ripped from its body. A jab this time, and the broken arm was thrust fist first through the gargoyle's chest, throwing it backwards and pinning it to the wall, still burning.

"Inventive, I'll give him that," the stranger said, breathing heavily, "but hardly dangerous. Now. Where were we?"

He turned back to Harry, which was when a shower of burning sparks struck him in the face. One of the first spells Underwood had taught them, it was designed to scare attacking creatures rather than wizards, but it was the first spell that came to Harry's mind. The stranger took a step back, batting the sparks away with his free hand, but Harry did not stop. He leapt to his feet, raising his arm up and slightly behind his head, pointing forwards, then brought his wand down in a long swipe with a little flourish at the end. A blue bolt of light shot from the tip of his wand, and struck the stranger firmly in the chest.

It didn't affect him at all. He barely blinked before looking down at his chest, then back at Harry in amused contempt.

"The Knockback Jinx? Really? That wouldn't work on a second year, you stupid child. Really, what are they teaching you in this place? I told Dumbledore he should have given me the job…"

"My apologies, Tom, but I remain unsatisfied with your qualifications," came a familiar and welcome voice from behind Harry's attacker. The wizard paused, and then whirled, casting a spell in one smooth movement as he did so. Harry heard a ringing sound, and felt a wave of energy ripple over him. It was followed by the gentle tap of footsteps strolling down the corridor. The stranger took a cautious step back, his wand still raised. Harry decided that this would be a wonderful time to hide; he leapt quickly behind a plinth, the ornate vase on top rocking as he pressed up against its support.

Dumbledore stood there perfectly calmly, his hands clasped behind his back and a thoughtful expression on his face. "I must confess a certain amount of confusion, Tom. What possible reason could you have for coming here tonight?"

The stranger, Tom, let out a high, cold laugh, throwing his head back as he did so. "You know what I want, Dumbledore. Surrender it, and I won't harm anyone else. I give you my word."

"Oh, a valuable commodity indeed, but you truly have me at a loss." The Headmaster's eyes glinted with an unsettling light, and he moved his hands to his side, his wand appearing in his hand as if by magic. "More importantly, you have exhausted my good will, Tom. Breaking into my school, attacking my students? No, I will not accept that."

A sly smile spread across Tom's thin lips, and he twitched his wand higher. "And so we dance again, hmm?"

Dumbledore shook his head, a hint of sorrow in his expression. "I fear not. May I let you in on a little secret, Tom? I know how much you like secrets…I've always rather enjoyed duelling you. Whatever else you are, you are a wizard of great skill, and I truly admire that. But I do not have the patience to cross wands with you tonight. I really must ask you to leave."

The red eyes flashed; the thin lips curled, revealing unnatural looking teeth. Then the wizard's wand flashed, bright green light, and an awful screaming just on the edge of hearing. Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a lump of stone was torn from the corridor wall. It intercepted the curse in mid-air, and promptly exploded. Before Dumbledore could retaliate, Tom had cast again, the same deadly spell. And then again. And again. The corridor glowed green with the constant stream of Killing Curses, and Dumbledore was slowly pulling the corridor apart in his desperate defensive manoeuvres. He yanked the vase from above Harry's head, and he let out a startled yelp as the plinth rocked.

Barely noticeable, the red eyes flickered in Harry's direction. There was another flash of green light, and then something blue; the air around Dumbledore burst into flame. Turning to Harry, Tom gave a great upward sweep of his arm. The ground below Harry cracked, and something he could not see pushed him upwards. He slammed into the ceiling, and pain shot through his arm. He dropped his wand, and the wizard smiled in fearful glee.

Another wave of the wand, and Harry was yanked downwards, suspended in front of the stranger. His legs snapped together, bound together by magic, and his arms were fixed to his sides. He started to gently revolve in mid-air, and as he turned he saw the flames die out. Dumbledore stepped forward, wand raised, but stopped when he saw Harry hovering there.

"The boy for my safe passage out of here, Dumbledore? It seems a reasonable bargain, under the circumstances…"

The Headmaster inclined his head. "I could not agree more. If you will kindly hand Harry over?"

"The boy stays where he is!" the man snarled, and Harry shivered. Every trace of culture had vanished from his attacker. "How much of an idiot do you think I am?"

"How dishonourable do you think _I _am?" Dumbledore replied coldly. "We have an agreement; you know I will abide by it."

There was a long pause – Harry could almost hear the man thinking it over to himself. Then he found himself thrust forward, pushed into Dumbledore's waiting arms. The Headmaster held him tight, and the spells that had been placed on him dissolved. He looked over his shoulder. The stranger still stood there, watching Dumbledore carefully. Then he jabbed his wand over his shoulder. A window shattered, and the wizard gave a mocking salute. Then, right in front of them, he turned to smoke, and vanished through the broken glass.

Dumbledore let out a long, slow sigh, and lowered Harry to the ground. Harry winced, but bit back the pain as the older wizard pressed his broken arm. Dumbledore noticed though.

"My dear boy, are you quite alright?" He knelt, and waved his wand over Harry's arm. A flicker of anger crossed his face, but he said nothing; tapping his wand against Harry's elbow, the pain disappeared. "There we go, how's that? Not healed, I'm afraid – I'm not bad, but it seems silly to try when Madame Pomfrey is so easily available, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry just nodded, too stunned to speak for the moment. Dumbledore nodded understandingly, and took his hand. "Come on, we can talk later." He waved his wand, and white light shot from it, flying towards the stairs and out of sight. "Madame Pomfrey will meet us there."

The Headmaster led Harry away. As they left, Harry took one last look behind him. The gargoyle was still gently smouldering against the wall.


	4. Magic

**Part 4: Magic**

It was two days later, and Harry was almost ready to start literally climbing the walls. The Hospital Wing was a miserable place at the best of times, but he hadn't even needed to be there. Madame Pomfrey had fixed his arm in a matter of minutes, but had insisted on keeping him in for observation. Anthony had brought him some books, but they had been spirited away into the office before he had so much as touched them. He had never been so bored.

For the most part, he had just been lying there, thinking about the mysterious wizard who had attacked him. He just couldn't puzzle the thing out. What kind of man just walked into Hogwarts one night, headed directly for a rather out of the way part of the castle, only to try to…well, what had he been doing, when it came right down to it? He was trying to break in, that much was clear. Did he want to steal something? What could possibly be in a school that was worth so much effort to steal? He had heard of some students trying to get hold of test answers in advance, but that was hardly the same.

In a way though, far more interesting was the man's ability. For all that he had been scary, he had been incredible. Harry did not claim to have any great knowledge of magic – although he had read a lot, and prided himself on what he did know – but he knew enough to understand that not many wizards could have put up such a show against the Headmaster. And he hadn't even used wand motions! He knew, of course, that it was possible to cast a spell without speaking the incantation, although as yet it had not occurred to him to try, but he had believed the motions were integral to the spells, especially the more advanced or powerful they were. If someone had told him about the display, he would never have believed it. He still wasn't entirely sure he hadn't been in shock or something.

He knew one thing though. As soon as he was out of the Hospital Wing, and had some free time, he would try it out himself. See if he couldn't show Granger what she could do with her "swish and flick!"

He was dragged from his thoughts by the arrival of his first visitor since Anthony and Ron had been barred only a couple of hours after his arrival.

"And how are we feeling today?" Dumbledore asked cheerily, taking a seat next to Harry's bed. Harry dredged up a smile.

"I'm fine, sir. Bored, a little, but I'm fine. I think I could leave now, if that was ok?"

Dumbledore's beard twitched. "I wouldn't dare to intervene with Madame Pomfrey, Harry. I would trust her judgement though; you had a nasty time of it, don't forget."

"It wasn't that bad!" Harry protested. At Dumbledore's sceptical expression, he elaborated. "Well, it wasn't. I've broken my arm before, and he didn't hurt me apart from that."

"Not for lack of trying," Dumbledore pointed out, and Harry looked away. He had been trying not to think about that. There hadn't been any reason for it. That was the worst thing. He hadn't been any danger to the wizard, he hadn't tried to summon help, or even hinder him in his quest. The man had just wanted him dead.

"How can someone be like that?" It wasn't until Dumbledore sighed that Harry realised he had spoken aloud.

"I fear Voldemort is beyond our understanding, Harry." Dumbledore must have been able to see Harry's confusion in his expression, for he explained. "Yes, that was Voldemort. Lord Voldemort, to his friends of course. He always did think highly of himself. You should be proud, Harry! Not many people have walked away from an encounter with him as relatively unscathed as you did."

"But…what could he have wanted here?" Harry blurted out. Voldemort himself, at Hogwarts? It seemed ridiculous, but he knew Dumbledore was not lying. The Headmaster shifted slightly in his seat, and for a moment his eyes did not meet Harry's.

"I'm afraid I don't know, Harry. It is possible he merely wanted to lie in wait to ambush me – my apologies, it was my office he was trying to gain access to, I realise you probably don't know that yet. It is possible he was looking for one or several of the artefacts we have at the school. I do not pretend to understand every facet of his mind, Harry."

"Will he come back?"

Dumbledore shook his head, his beard lagging behind the rest of his face, which made Harry smile slightly. "I do not believe so. He got lucky the other night, and he is clever enough to realise that. You have nothing to fear from him."

Harry could not help the little sigh of relief that followed, and he flushed slightly.

"If you don't mind my asking, Harry," Dumbledore continued, as if he hadn't noticed, "I was rather wondering how you ended up getting involved?"

"Oh. I – well, I was in the library, sir," Harry explained. "I lost track of time, and I was heading to the feast when I saw him. He didn't look…right. I don't know how."

"Illusion, I would imagine," Dumbledore said. "Or possibly a Transfiguration of some sort. Certainly that was not his natural appearance; I'm impressed you spotted, actually. A faint sheen to him, yes?"

Harry nodded. "He looked…plastic, is it?"

"Ah yes, plastic. Quite useful, in its place," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Hardly every-day wear though, hmm?"

Harry shook his head, a little ball of pride warming him. He had impressed Dumbledore. He couldn't wait to hear what his parents would say!

"But why did you follow him? There is hardly a shortage of people who don't look entirely normal at Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, his point not unreasonable. Harry did not say anything for a minute or so, pondering his own motives. Why had he followed Voldemort?

"I suppose…I suppose I just wanted to work out what was odd about him," he eventually said, somehow dissatisfied with his own answer. It wasn't the stuff of stories, not what his dad, or Sirius would have said.

"Have you ever heard the Muggle expression, 'Curiosity killed the cat'?" Dumbledore asked him with a smile. Harry shook his head, and Dumbledore laughed. "That explains a lot. I admire your interest in the world, Harry, but perhaps you should learn some better judgement before your next adventure."

"I'm not going to have another one!" Harry declared. "That one was bad enough, he nearly killed me!"

"I am delighted to hear that, Harry." Dumbledore climbed to his feet, ready to leave. "Your fellow students are unaware of the precise nature of events that night; I would ask that you do not enlighten them. I'm sure you understand."

Harry nodded. He could just imagine the reaction if people found out Voldemort had just walked into the castle.

"Naturally, I have taken steps to ensure that there will be no repeats, but what people don't know won't hurt them," Dumbledore continued. "And Madame Pomfrey informs me that you will be free to go before the day is out. Your professors will be understanding, should you require extensions on any homework."

"It won't take me that long to catch up," Harry said confidently. "It's mostly reading."

"Capital. Take care of yourself, Harry."

And with that, he was gone. Harry slumped back in his bed, bored again already. His eyes fell on his bedside table, and he looked up again. Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, and he couldn't hear anyone else around. He quickly reached out and grabbed his wand. She hadn't thought to take that away, at least. Stretching his arm out, he focussed on a glass on the other side of the room. Carefully not moving his hand at all, he tried to cast a spell.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The glass completely failed to so much as wobble on the table. Harry scowled, but his hopes remained undimmed. He knew it was possible; all he had to do now was practice.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Oh, come on!"

Harry threw himself into the chair, his arms folded and his expression sullen. He had been trying for most of the afternoon to levitate a glass, but so far he had had no success. There had been a point, around about his tenth attempt, where he thought he had seen an incredibly small twitch, something which had provoked him into continuing far longer than he had originally planned, but he had not managed to repeat it. Assuming of course that he hadn't imagined it completely. He glared at the glass, and tapped his wand against his chin. Perhaps one more try…

"For God's sake, Harry, will you give it a rest!" Anthony snapped in exasperation. The blond boy had been watching Harry's efforts with interest at the start of the afternoon. After half an hour or so though, he had started to get bored, and buried his head in a Defence text book, still trying to get the hang of the spells they were being taught. Harry couldn't blame him, really. Magic was fascinating, but even he had to admit it lost its appeal if nothing actually happened.

"But I can't see why nothing's happening," he explained to his friend. "I know it's possible, but it's just not happening. I've never had this much difficulty with magic before."

"Lucky you," Anthony remarked sourly. "Maybe Ron'll know? It might be something that needs more than practice, after all."

"He might do," Harry said doubtfully. "But I haven't seen anything about any special trick in the books I've read. Most of them just seemed to think if you were reading it, you already knew how to do it. I'm probably looking in the wrong books, but there's thousands of them!"

"Did you just complain about the Library having _too many books_?" Anthony asked him incredulously, dropping his book into his lap. "Are you feeling all right?"

Harry picked up a discarded scrap of parchment, scrunched it up and tossed it at his friend. Anthony grinned, batting it away before picking his book up again.

"Seriously, I'm sure there's a good explanation. Just stop worrying about it so much."

Harry said nothing, but did not resume his experiments. After a few moments, he delved into his bag, and took out a book on Charms theory that he had been looking through. Most of it was still beyond him, but he was hoping to pick up a few bits and pieces to impress Professor Flitwick. His failure still rankled at the back of his mind, however. It just didn't make sense; if you removed the wand movements, then you took a step out of the casting, which meant less to think about. Less to do meant easier, surely? The reverse was certainly true, in his experience.

"Why don't you just go and ask Flitwick?" Anthony suddenly said. Harry looked up at him, confused.

"About what?"

"About this little project of yours, what else?"

Harry frowned. He had no doubt that their Head of House would be able to give him the answer in seconds, but teachers always seemed to want to know _why_ you were asking something, as if knowledge for knowledge sake was a bad thing. He wasn't altogether certain what Professor Dumbledore would have said to the other staff about Halloween, if anything. It was one thing to lie to his friends, but Professor Flitwick would be bound to spot it if he wasn't honest. He had told the Headmaster that he would keep it a secret, and he didn't want to break his word.

On the other hand, the problem had been driving him crazy…

An hour later, quite some time after he had absentmindedly wandered off in search of Ron, he realised that he actually had absolutely no idea where the Gryffindor common room was, and so finding Ron was probably going to be impossible. Never one to be put off by impracticalities, however, Harry set off to have a look around some of the more likely spots. Unfortunately, the library had closed for the evening, and Ron spent as little time in there as possible anyway; the Quidditch stadium, where both of them had whiled away a few hours watching the older students practice, was off limits except at particular times. It was theoretically possible that he was somewhere else in the castle – the kitchens leapt to mind – but Harry had no way of tracking him down.

Muttering to himself, Harry set off back towards his own common room, ignoring the greetings from some of the portraits as he passed them. It was only as he was starting to mount the stairs up to the door that he paused, one foot hovering in mid-air. Waterson had said, after all, that Professor Flitwick was very helpful, and really, the clever Charms teacher was bound to be more help than Ron. He was slightly embarrassed that he hadn't thought of this sooner, but one Ravenclaw tendency he had picked up very swiftly was a determination to work things out himself where he could. Ron didn't count, that was just the same as looking in a book for guidance; asking a teacher did feel a little like cheating, but he consoled himself with the fact that he had undoubtedly tried his best.

Flitwick's office was in Ravenclaw Tower, just under the common room, and it took no time at all for Harry to get there. The door was closed when he arrived, but Harry would not let this deter him, rapping his knuckles against the fine wood confidently. A few seconds later, the door swung open, and Harry was faced with his Head of House's kindly, wizened face. At Flitwick's appearance, Harry coughed slightly, taking a step back. He was so used to looking up at adults that he did it automatically, forgetting that Flitwick was roughly on eye level with him. He didn't seem to notice Harry's embarrassment though, and smiled warmly.

"Mr Potter! What can I do for you? Nothing the matter, I hope?"

"No, sir," Harry said with a shake of his head. "I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions, if that was alright?"

"Of course, of course!" Flitwick stepped aside, waving Harry into the room. "Curiosity is always to be rewarded, Harry, remember that."

Harry walked inside, looking around the office in wide eyed delight. He had never visited before, and had vaguely expected…well, an office. Perhaps a little grander than most offices, being in a famous castle, but an office nevertheless. He had not expected the glittering balls of light suspended in the air, or the wriggling chairs, or the giggling mice in a cage. He couldn't help the delighted little grin that spread over his face, and Flitwick chuckled.

"They're not bad, are they? Though I say it myself, of course."

"How did you make them laugh?" Harry asked, staring at the mice in wonder.

"Oh, just a fairly simple Cheering Charm," Flitwick explained, pulling out a chair for Harry to sit in. "I wasn't sure it would work, being mice, but I'm always happy to have my horizons broadened. I'm sure you can understand that, though."

Harry nodded with a grin. "Could you teach me?"

Flitwick beamed, and pulled out his wand. "But of course! You wouldn't normally learn it until your third year, but we'll give it a go." His first action was to wave his wand over the cage; the mice instantly ceased their giggling, and started to scurry around the cage with a distinctly puzzled air about them. Flitwick sat back and waved Harry forward.

"Right then, Mr Potter, wand out! The incantation is _Beatitas_, and you really need to be stressing the _ti_. Like this: _Beatitas!_"

The mice promptly stopped moving, letting out high-pitched, squeaking giggles for a few seconds before Flitwick cancelled the spell again. Harry watched the whole process intently, studying the slight twirl of the wand as the professor had brought it down over his head. Then, drawing his own wand, Harry stood over the cage.

"_Beatitas!_" He brought his wand flicking down sharply, rounded off with a close approximation of Flitwick's movements. One of the mice sneezed, and rubbed its nose, before returning to scampering around. The others didn't react at all, having taken an interest in the food bowl in the corner of the cage. Harry frowned in discontentment.

"Don't worry about it, my boy," Flitwick told him. "I did warn you that it was fairly advanced. Altering a living being's emotions is tricky stuff, don't you know."

"I know," Harry said with a vague nod, giving the spell another go. A different mouse looked up from its food, and for a moment Harry saw a flash of teeth as its lips curled, but it turned away again. He couldn't quite decide if that had been a smile or a wholly different expression.

"Keep practicing," Flitwick advised. "If you can cast it successfully by the end of the year, there'll be twenty house points in it for you, what do you say?"

"Sounds good to me, Professor!" Harry responded with a grin, privately resolving to have mastered the spell by the summer term. The resolution reminded him of his original purpose in coming, and he turned his back to the mice. "There was something I wanted to ask you about, sir."

"Yes, you said. What deep mystery can I solve for you?" Flitwick hopped up onto his desk, crossing his legs, and waved Harry to sit down.

"I was wondering about casting spells without the wand movements," Harry told him as he took his seat. "It is possible, isn't it?"

"Perfectly, yes," Flitwick replied. "It tends to go hand in hand with silent casting, of course. You'll be learning about that rather later on in your time here, Harry, don't worry – in fact, we at Hogwarts pride ourselves on ensuring that every single wizard or witch who graduates here can cast a spell without saying a word, or doing anything other than aim their wand in the relevant direction."

"Really? But my mum and dad say the spells out loud all the time," Harry said, confused. Flitwick smiled.

"Maybe so, but they can do it if they want. It does require rather more force of will than is generally needed for everyday use, and of course there are some spells that are simply much harder to cast without the proper vocalisation and gestures. Why do you ask about it?"

Harry hesitated. He hadn't really given much thought to what he was going to tell the professor if the topic came up, rather hoping he could just play it off as casual interest. Having told him that his parents frequently used both incantation and gesture, he could hardly say he had seen them doing it.

"I was just thinking about why we were taught any other method," he settled on. "I mean, it's possible, it certainly seems quicker…I've been trying to do it though, and I can't do it no matter how hard I work."

"What?" Flitwick sat up ramrod straight, alarm shooting over his face. "Merlin's beard, are you alright, Harry?"

"I…yes, sir, I'm fine. What have I done?"

Flitwick sank back in relief. "You're sure? No headaches, nothing hurting?"

"No, sir," Harry confirmed with a shake of his head. "Should there be?"

"Well, you've been very lucky, very lucky indeed," Flitwick murmured. "My apologies, Harry, but there is a reason we don't teach you like that until after your O.W.L.s. Magic can be dangerous, you do understand that, don't you?"

Harry nodded uncertainly. He was fairly sure that Flitwick wasn't specifically talking about the magic that he had seen Voldemort using against the Headmaster, but he couldn't see what else he could be talking about.

Flitwick appeared to pick up on this, for he leant forward to emphasise what he was saying. "Magic is not of human origin, Harry. We don't know precisely where it came from, or even much of how it really works, but I am certain that magic was around long before any living being, and will probably be around for a lot longer than anything as well. It is a truly terrifying force, if not properly controlled."

Harry nodded, wide eyed. He had never heard anything like this before, although now he was hearing it it seemed to make perfect sense.

"You are young," Flitwick continued, "and whatever your personal intellect and work ethic, you are still highly inexperienced with magic. Do you know why no wizard or witch is permitted to use magic without supervision until they are seventeen years old?"

"Yes," Harry said. "It's all about the Statue of Secrecy, isn't it?" He didn't quite see what that had to do with anything, but didn't want to admit to it.

"Statute, Harry," Flitwick corrected him with a small smile. "And yes, partly – mostly, these days, really. Do you know why seventeen was specified though?"

Harry shook his head in response.

"Well, by the time you turn seventeen you are, more or less, fully formed. There might be some superficial changes, and your knowledge and experience will always be expanding, but your mind will be pretty much settled, attuned to the world around you, as much as it can be. I told you that magic can be terrifying; I do not just mean someone like Voldemort, abusing magic to further his own power. I mean the raw potential of it. The incantations and wand movements that we teach you serve a couple of purposes, Harry. First of all, they serve as a useful aid in learning individual spells. More importantly, and this is less well known, they act as a sort of buffer against the energy we channel when we cast spells."

Harry frowned, mulling that other. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't quite understand that last bit. Why do we need a buffer?"

"Your mind, your brain, really, is not yet fully formed, as I said," Flitwick elaborated. "If you were to cast magic…well, clearly not at all, given your experiments, but let us say regularly without taking advantage of that buffer, then you would irreparably damage your brain. You could in fact kill yourself."

Harry sat back, shaken. The thought of what could have happened to him…he hadn't even considered something like that! His parents had always warned him about racing ahead, but he had never dreamed that such consequences were possible. "Will I be alright?"

"I think we will double check that shortly with Madame Pomfrey," Flitwick said decisively, and Harry repressed a groan. "I believe you will be though; if you had done any damage to yourself, you would know by now. We must be certain though, in this and all things. And I must insist that you leave all such experimentation until you cover it in class, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said dejectedly. He couldn't argue with the instruction, under the circumstances, but he had so wanted to learn the trick of it. In all honesty, he was now a little underwhelmed by the whole thing; the dangers of trying it too early aside, it seemed like there was little more to it than practice, as with much of the magic they had already been taught. A thought struck him.

"Is that why we have to practice spells so hard, sir? Because of brain damage?"

"More or less," Flitwick told him, nodding with approval. "In theory, no new pupil at Hogwarts – or any school of magic – will have cast magic properly. There's always accidental magic, and inevitably one or two who've had a crack at it with their parents wand or something, but basically, you are a clean slate when you arrive. You will find as you get older that magic begins to naturally get easier to learn and master, because your brain is becoming more used to the whole idea of it. When you start though, you are using parts of your brain that have never consciously been used before. It can take a while for you to adjust."

"I hope it happens quickly," Harry mumbled. Flitwick laughed.

"Don't worry, Harry, there's always something more to learn. I'm sure I don't need to warn you not to forget your studies, but I'm always willing to help with any extra projects my students want to take on. Learn as many spells as you want, Harry, but leave altering the mechanics until later, hmm?"

"Fair enough," Harry said, cheering up slightly. "What would you recommend?"

Flitwick leant back for a moment, thinking. After a moment, he snapped his fingers, and pointed at the globes of light floating behind him. "I think you might benefit from trying these," he said. "Not too tricky, but not something we'd normally teach to a first year. Getting them going is the easy part, it's maintaining them that's the trick."

"Alright!" Harry said with an enthusiastic nod. He pulled a scrap of parchment from his bag, along with a quill. "What's the incantation?"

"Oh no, I'm not giving everything away," Flitwick told him. "You're never too young to learn the value of good research. It's a fairly standard charm though."

Not wanting to push his luck, Harry stood up, shouldering his bag. "Thank you, sir. And thank you for explaining all that to me. I didn't know any of it."

"It's not something that really gets talked about," Flitwick said with a sigh. "Really, Professor Binns ought to cover at least some of it, but he has his own little interests. Don't we all though?"

"I suppose so," Harry said diplomatically. History of Magic was pretty much the only class at Hogwarts that he couldn't stand, although he would quite happily while away an hour or so with a decent book on the subject. He had devoured his mother's copy of Bathilda Bagshot's book, right up until it had fallen apart in his hands one night.

"Excellent. And now for the Hospital Wing, I think. And don't look like that! I know you've spent some time there recently, but if you will try magic meant for seventh years…"

Harry's shoulders slumped as he followed the Professor out of the office. Madame Pomfrey would be bound to try and keep him in overnight, _again_. He wasn't sure he could stand that. On the other hand, and some of his dejection left him, the afternoon hadn't been a complete waste. He seemed to have impressed Flitwick, and he had nearly learnt a spell that he ordinarily wouldn't even have been trying for another two years. Lagging behind Flitwick slightly, he aimed his wand at a fly perched on a windowsill.

"_Beatitas!_" he whispered. The fly leapt from the window as if it had been stung, and started buzzing around Harry's head. It was far too small for Harry to study properly, but it sounded happy to him.

Cheered, he quickened his pace. No, it hadn't been a bad day at all.


	5. Dumbledore's Box

**Chapter 5: Dumbledore's Box**

Harry pursed his lips as he leafed through the spell book. The spell Flitwick had suggested he research was proving elusive; he had ruled out several entire branches of magic of course, such as Transfiguration, but that still left him with essentially every charm book in the library at least. It was even remotely possible that the spell could be found within the Defence section – Harry was sure Underwood had mentioned something about Aurors using light against vampires, or had it been Quirrell? For now though, he was assuming that since Flitwick had challenged him, it was probably going to be a charm of some sort.

It narrowed the field, but only to something in the region of ten thousand books in the Hogwarts library alone.

He sighed, and leant back in his chair. Perhaps if he broke it down…he scrabbled for some parchment, and dipped his quill into the pot of ink. If _Lumos _was the incantation to project light, then it stood to reason that there would be something similar in the incantation for Flitwick's spell. That would go along with something for globes, or maybe orbs…where was his Latin dictionary?

No, really. Where was it? He stared blankly at the table, but it failed to appear. A search through his bag proved fruitless, and it was only then that he remembered he had lent it to Ron. Muttering to himself, he tucked the folds of parchment into a wallet, and slung his bag over his shoulder. After a moment's thought, he picked up three of the books on the table, and pressed the tip of his wand to a piece of silver metal on the corner.

"_Reverto_"

There was a faint glimmer over the table, and then the rest of the books slowly levitated. He watched them float back to their respective shelves for a second, then headed towards Madame Pince's desk. The sour-faced librarian looked up from her ledger as he approached.

"More books, Master Potter?"

"Just three today," Harry told her as cheerfully as he could, putting them in front of her. Truth be told, the librarian unnerved him a little. He hadn't seen her smile in nearly three months, which just didn't seem right. She shook her head, but stamped them for him and handed them back.

"Where on earth do you find the time to read them all?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "Well, I'm not reading them all at the same time. I just dip in and out, you know."

Madame Pince sniffed. "Personally, I restrict myself to one book at a time. Focus is everything, Master Potter. Just don't damage them."

"Don't worry, I won't!" Harry put the books into his bag, and left the library at a stroll. Dinner wouldn't be served for another hour or so, so Ron was probably down at the Quidditch pitch, watching the Gryffindor team practice. There were no stairs for him to take though, so while he waited he practiced the Cheering Charm. He had nearly got it working, although none of his friends had been willing to let him practice on them. Shrugging to himself, he pointed the wand at his face.

"_Beatitas_."

His cheeks suddenly felt as if someone had been tickling him, and he felt the corners of his mouth twitch slightly. After a few seconds, the sensation disappeared, as did his smile.

"It won't work, you know," someone said.

Harry looked around, shocked. He had thought he was alone, and sure enough no-one was in sight. "Hello?"

"Over here, dear," the voice spoke up again. He turned, and realised that it was one of the portraits. A kindly-looking old witch sitting on a tree stump was watching him, and she waved as their eyes met. "It's much harder to cast a charm on yourself, dear, but not a bad try! Keep it up."

"Thanks…how do you know that?" Harry asked her. She shrugged.

"I used to teach Charms, quite a few years ago now. You never forget."

Harry nodded slowly. "Why can't you do it?"

"Because I'm a portrait, dear. Do try and keep up."

"No, not that!" Harry said. "I mean, why is it harder to Charm yourself than someone else?"

"I don't know," the witch said, frowning at him. "I'm just a portrait."

"But…never-mind," Harry said, turning away with a shake of his head. The stairs slid into place with a crunch, and he left the witch behind without a second's hesitation. He wandered down the stairs and towards the atrium in a thoughtful daze. Why would it be harder to Charm yourself? By rights it ought to be easier, surely? His thoughts were abruptly disrupted by somebody barging past him. He looked over his shoulder, glaring at the boy and his friends.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"

The boy who had bumped him turned round slowly, and Harry winced. Draco Malfoy, flanked as ever by his shadows Crabbe and Goyle.

"Did you say something to me, Potter?"

"Just wish you'd pay attention to other people, that's all," Harry said, trying to sound nonchalant. Malfoy was notorious for taking even the slightest comment as a bitter slight against him and his family's honour – which, to be fair, it often was, at least from Ron; he seemed to be trying to establish himself as Malfoy's arch-nemesis, which was a really stupid idea as far as Harry could see.

"You really don't want me to pay attention to you, Potter," Malfoy said, stepping closer.

Harry sighed. "Look, Draco, I'm not trying to start a fight, ok? Just saying, maybe saying 'excuse me' once in a while wouldn't hurt."

Malfoy's eyes flickered, and he waved his hand. Before Harry realised what was going on, Goyle's fist impacted against his stomach, and he staggered back, wheezing.

"Make it quick, boys," Malfoy said carelessly, leaning against the wall of the corridor. As Goyle approached once more, Harry fumbled his wand from his robes, and cast the first spell that came to mind.

"_Beatitas!_"

Instantly, Goyle sank to his knees, laughing hysterically and clutching his ribs. His hulking partner flashed a look of utter bewilderment at Malfoy, who had straightened up, alarmed. "What the hell did you do, Potter?"

But Harry, deciding that discretion was perhaps the better part of valour, was already making his way briskly into the atrium. Looking over his shoulder, he saw an older student walking past, and dismissing the spell with a casual flick of his wand. He couldn't make out the incantation though. Goyle was shooting him a look of foulest rage, and Harry briefly considered the possibility that this was the first time the other boy had actually laughed at something. He didn't stop though, and they did not follow.

It could have been worse, he thought to himself as he made his way through the open doors, out into the chill air. True, he was probably going to regret it at a later date, but as it went, he'd come off rather well, though he said it himself. He grinned for a moment. He couldn't wait to tell Ron.

As if the thought had been an incantation, he spotted the red-head on the other side of the courtyard, playing chess against someone he didn't recognise. From the bored but thoughtful expression on his face, Ron seemed to be winning, as per usual. As Harry approached, Ron clicked his queen down with a look of satisfaction. His opponent swore, stood up and walked away, fuming. Ron stuck his tongue out at the boy's retreating back.

"Git. I hate a sore loser!"

"Don't ever play me at chess then," Harry told him, sitting down.

"Why would I do that? You're rubbish!" Ron replied with a grin. "What's up? It's still daylight and you're out of the library."

"I need my Latin dictionary," Harry said. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, haven't got it with me, it's up in the dorm. Is it urgent?"

"I guess not," Harry said. "It's not homework or anything like that, I just want to look something up."

Ron shook his head. "You're unbelievable. I'll get it to you at dinner, ok?"

Harry nodded, and they sat there for a moment, watching the other students. After a while, Ron stretched, and looked back at Harry. "So, what you been up to?"

Harry grinned, delighted that Ron had given him the opportunity to brag a little. "I had a run in with Draco Malfoy."

Ron whistled sympathetically. "You ok? What happened?"

"I'm fine," Harry told him, a little hurt that Ron doubted him. "He bumped into me – literally, I mean – and I snapped at him before I realised who he was. He set Goyle on me, but I hit him with a Cheering Charm, made myself scarce while he was laughing."

"A Cheering Charm?" Ron said, looking puzzled.

"It's a spell Flitwick taught me," Harry explained. "Not the obvious choice, I suppose, but it worked."

"So you beat him by making him laugh?" Ron shook his head. "Nice job, but you should probably look up a decent jinx or two. He won't let it go, you know that."

"Wait…_you_, Ron Weasley, are encouraging me to study?"

Ron grimaced. "You're right. Don't let Granger find out, will you?"

"Merlin, you're not still fighting with her, are you?" Harry asked with a sigh. Ron looked defensive.

"She's so bossy! Come on, it's not as if you like her either, or Anthony."

Harry shrugged. "I don't mind her that much."

"Liar."

"Ok, she's irritating, but I don't fight with her!"

"You don't have to share a common room with her," Ron pointed out. "She's always interfering!"

"Maybe if you tried being polite about it…" Harry suggested.

"When am I ever rude?" Ron said, looking genuinely offended. His eyes flicked away from Harry for a second, and he groaned. "Oh no…"

"Hello!" Hermione Granger was walking over, a bag straining under the amount of books inside slung over her shoulder. Harry shifted along the bench he was sat on to make room, and she sat down next to him, smiling gratefully. "Thank you. I just came over to say that a couple of us are getting together to work on that Transfiguration essay," she said, turning her attention to Ron. "Would you like to come? You're welcome, Harry, of course, but I don't know if you're doing the same essay…"

"About changing the needle into a quill?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded enthusiastically, and he shook his head. "I've already done it, but thanks for the offer. I'm sure Ron could use the help though."

It took a great deal of self-control not to let the pain show as his friend kicked his shin, but it was worth it. Hermione beamed at Ron. "Excellent! It'll be after dinner, obviously, about half past seven?"

"Well, I was actually thinking about taking a broom out with my brothers…" Ron muttered, glaring at Harry.

"But the essay's due in a week!" Hermione exclaimed. "You need to get these things started early, Ron, you really do."

Harry grinned, and stood up. "Good luck persuading him of that, Hermione. I'll see you at dinner, Ron."

"Yes. You will," Ron said, glaring daggers at him. Harry set off back towards the castle, intending to dump his bag in his dorm before heading down to an early dinner. As he walked through the glittering doors though, he found himself cut off. Draco Malfoy stood there, an unpleasant smile on his face. Harry sighed. That had been rather quicker than he had anticipated.

"So, Potter…where were we?"

Harry flicked his eyes around the atrium, but there was no-one he recognised. True, people were clearly taking an interest in what was happening, but knowing the Hogwarts students, that was more likely to result in an audience to any confrontation than an intervention. At least Crabbe and Goyle didn't seem to be there.

"I think we'd pretty much covered everything, actually," Harry said. He flashed Malfoy a friendly smile, but the Slytherin was having none of it.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Malfoy said. "You were very quick with that wand, and wasn't that a third year charm I saw?"

Harry frowned, nonplussed, but nodded regardless. "Erm, yes. Thank you?"

The corners of Malfoy's lips curled slightly. "It's nice to see someone actually putting some effort in. I've been quite bored so far; nobody can keep up with me, what with my father's tuition…"

Harry rather doubted this. What with one thing or another, he didn't actually share all that many practical classes with the Slytherins, but he knew from his own frustrated attempts that few Wizarding families actually taught their children much in the way of proper magic before they began their education. The Malfoys' had a rather more dubious reputation than his own family, of course, but he was fairly sure they wouldn't have gone so far as to buy Draco an illegal wand. He carefully didn't say any of that though. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Perhaps you'd like to show me some of your spellwork," Malfoy suggested.

Harry stared at the other boy in confusion. Malfoy wanted to work with him? It was barely half an hour – probably not even that long – since the Slytherin had had Crabbe and Goyle trying to beat him up. Now he wanted to study? "That's…a generous offer?" he offered, feebly.

Malfoy blinked, then rolled his eyes. "For Merlin's sake, Potter…"

Harry started to reply, but a hand on his shoulder cut him off. Ron had arrived, Hermione hovering at a distance, looking anxious.

"Let me handle this, ok mate?" Ron suggested. Harry stepped back in relief, and Ron smiled at Malfoy. "Sorry, Malfoy, you'll have to forgive Harry. He's not used to complete wankers coming up to him and challenging him to a duel in the most cowardly way possible."

Harry closed his eyes as the penny dropped, and he saw Malfoy's outraged expression. "Oh dear…"

"What did you just call me?" Malfoy hissed.

"A wanker. And a coward, actually," Ron added, clearly enjoying himself. "And come on; Harry's a brainbox alright, but he's not the duelling type. You want a challenge, right? He's not going to be able to match up, so why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

"Ron – " Harry began, but his friend hushed him, a glint in his eye. Malfoy drew himself up to his full height, which was unfortunate, because he was still a couple of inches shorter than Ron.

"If that's the way you want it, Weasley. It's about time someone showed you your proper place. I'll owl you the details." With that, Malfoy turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Ron sniggering behind him. Harry stared at his friend, aghast.

"Ron! You can't – you can't just go around fighting duels! You're not Godric Gryffindor!"

"Oh please," Ron scoffed. "It's Malfoy; nothing'll happen, trust me. He'll just try and pretend the whole thing never happened."

"You really think so?" Harry asked him dubiously.

"Definitely. Like I said: he's a wanker."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

At breakfast the next day, Harry was busily telling Anthony about the confrontation, in-between mouthfuls of bacon and eggs, when Ron walked over to the Ravenclaw table. He took a seat opposite Harry, looking distinctly sheepish.

"Hey mate, what's up?" Harry said, while Anthony nodded in greeting.

"I…well, I got an owl from Malfoy last night," Ron said. "With a time and place for this duel. So I was sort of wondering…d'you want to be my second?"

Harry buried his face in his hands.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"I can't believe we're doing this."

"Would you shut up?" Ron hissed. He and Harry were making their way across the atrium. It was a week after their confrontation with Malfoy; the Christmas holidays had started, and in all honesty Harry would rather have been at home. His parents were away on another Order mission though, and since Ron had roped him in as his second, he hadn't felt right about leaving.

He had never been out of the common room this late before. Perhaps it was due to the dramatic decrease in student numbers, but the castle was eerily quiet. The only activity they had seen had been two ghosts that Harry had never seen before. From what they could make out, the ghosts had appeared to be playing Quidditch, although quite why they hadn't chosen to haunt the stadium if that was their passion Harry didn't really know. Even the portraits were asleep. The torches were starting to burn low, and moonlight shone through the old glass in the window slits.

They stopped in front of the vast doors, and examined them carefully. Harry had been expecting them to be locked, whether with keys, fearsome enchantments, or in all probability both. He was rather surprised therefore to find that when he pushed at one of them, it simply swung open.

"That shouldn't have happened," he said.

"Why complain?" Ron asked. "Stroke of luck if you ask me."

"But the castle doors are always locked at night," Harry told him. "It's a tradition, and you know what Filch is like."

Ron nodded with a grimace. Like almost every other student in the castle over the last who knew how many years, they had both fallen foul of the miserable caretaker on one occasion at least. "I've never heard anything about that. I mean, it makes sense, but how do you know?"

Harry shrugged. "I read about it."

"Of course." Ron eyed the ajar door dubiously. "Do we want to risk it then?"

"How else do you suggest we get out?" Harry said, and pushed past his friend, walking out of the castle.

He very nearly walked straight back in. The wind was viciously cold, cutting straight through the robes he was wearing over pyjamas, and he shivered.

"Bloody hell!" Ron cursed as he joined Harry. He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to keep as much warmth in as he could. "I wish I was back in bed…"

"You can't complain," Harry said. "This is your fault, you know. If you hadn't pissed Malfoy off like that…"

"I was helping you!" Ron protested. "You can't complain about that."

"I wasn't! Although you didn't have to."

"Sure I did, it was fun," Ron countered with a grin. "Seriously though, you don't have to do this. Go back to bed if you want."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I said I'd be your second, and I will be. Besides, I've never seen a duel before; it should be fascinating!"

"You're unbelievable," Ron muttered, making his way down the steps. "If I wanted someone to take notes, I'd have asked Granger."

"What did she say about all this?" Harry asked, following him. "I bet she wasn't happy."

"She's never happy with me, but no," Ron said. "She was convinced that we're all going to be caught and expelled."

Harry didn't reply, largely because Hermione was probably right about that. Catching up to his friend, he reached into his robes, and pulled out a shimmering bundle. "Here, hold on. Let's get under this."

"What is it?" Ron asked, looking at it warily.

"My dad's Invisibility Cloak," Harry told him. He whirled it around his shoulders, and promptly disappeared from view. It was the first time he had really worn it, and the effect was bizarre. His whole view of the world changed; everything was slightly blurry, mis-shapen, and although he could just about make out Ron saying something about it being 'really wicked', the sound was definitely muffled. He felt as if he were underwater, but miraculously, he was no longer cold. Taking a step forward, he wrapped a fold of the Cloak around Ron.

"How long have you had this?" Ron asked, stroking a patch of the fabric.

"Just since the beginning of the year," Harry told him. "Dad gave it to me on the train. I haven't used it yet, this seemed like as good a time as any."

"I can't believe you've just let this lie around!" Ron exclaimed. "It's fantastic! Fred and George would kill for something like this."

"Don't tell them," Harry said quickly. Ron looked at him, surprised.

"Ok…but why? You can trust them, you know."

"I..I don't know, really," Harry said, pausing to reflect on his words. "I guess…I guess I just don't want too many people knowing about it, ok? It's private."

"Ok," Ron said, shrugging. "It's your Cloak. Can we both walk in it?"

"I think so," Harry said uncertainly. He realised with a start that he was rubbing a fold of the fabric between his finger and thumb, for no obvious reason. He let the fabric fall away, and walked forward. Ron moved hurriedly to keep up with him, and at a slow pace they set off towards the Forbidden Forest.

The night was quiet, the dim light from the moon rendered even dimmer by the thick fabric of the Invisibility Cloak. There was enough light to see by though, for which Harry was profoundly grateful. He knew how to project light, but doing it outside after curfew didn't seem a terribly smart idea. As a bonus, the snow that had coated the grounds in recent weeks had largely melted away; the Cloak wouldn't stop them leaving footprints behind them, after all.

They reached the covered bridge without incident, and made their way across it, wincing at every creaking board. As they reached the other side, Harry sent a nervous glance over his shoulder, and immediately froze.

"Ron!"

"What?" his friend asked irritably, turning around. He instantly followed Harry's lead. "Oh shit…is that…?"

"Dumbledore…" Harry breathed. The Headmaster was walking purposefully on the other side of the ravine, fortunately in the other direction. He had his wand held aloft, light streaming from the tip, and by its light Harry could just make out something tucked underneath Dumbledore's other arm. A large, heavy looking box. As they watched, Dumbledore disappeared around a corner. The two friends looked at each other.

"Where d'you think he's going?" Ron asked.

"It's the boathouse in that direction, isn't it?" Harry said, shrugging. "Maybe he's going fishing?"

"At midnight?" Ron said, sceptically.

"He's probably done stranger things," Harry pointed out. Ron nodded, accepting that as a fair point.

"Come on. We're going to be late."

They started walking again, and were soon passing between the tall, thin trees of the Forbidden Forest. Harry shivered as they crossed the boundary. He immediately felt silly, childish for doing so, but he couldn't help it. The Forest was the stuff of legend. There were a thousand stories of wizards who had gone hunting inside, or pursuing strange creatures. There were fewer stories were those wizards had returned. It was far too easy to see leering faces in the trees, and Harry found himself pressing closer to Ron. Naturally, this made his friend stumble.

"Bloody hell, Harry! Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

"Is somebody there?" a startled voice rang out.

Harry looked around. Draco Malfoy stood next to a tree, his eyes wide and his wand held in a trembling hand. Crabbe was looming behind him, although his wand was nowhere to be seen. Harry repressed a grin as realisation struck him. The two Slytherins couldn't see them, but they could hear them. Malfoy at least would have heard the same stories that Harry had, and was probably having horrifying visions of monsters come to carry him off. For a moment, there was a strong temptation to pull his leg a little more, but he decided against it. He didn't want to get hexed by accident. Or at all, really, but certainly not by accident. He nudged Ron, and then pulled the Cloak away.

Malfoy nearly yelped at the sudden appearance of two people, but he quickly recovered his composure when he realised who they were. "Oh. You're finally here, are you?"

"Been waiting long?" Ron asked innocently.

"Ages. I thought you'd at least have the decency to be prompt," Malfoy said, scowling at them.

Ron grinned. "Sorry, must have lost track of time. Next time, eh?"

"Let's not have a next time…" Harry muttered. Malfoy heard him.

"No stomach for it, Potter? Disappointing."

"You do know that Dumbledore's walking around tonight, don't you?" Harry shot back, irritated. Malfoy blanched, and glanced at Crabbe.

"Really?"

"Yep, saw him on our way over," Ron confirmed. "He wasn't heading this way though, don't worry. So long as we don't get too flashy we should be fine."

"I doubt you're capable of flashy, Weasley," Malfoy said with a sneer. "Crabbe. Mark it out."

Crabbe dutifully obeyed, plodding away from Draco. At a particular point, he scuffed a line in the dirt with his boot, and then walked towards Harry and Ron. After twenty paces or so he paused again, spat at their feet, and scuffed another line in the dirt. Harry's fingers twitched, but he did nothing. Malfoy and Ron stepped towards their respective markers, and swept their wands up into a salute. Harry took his place at the side of the makeshift piste, next to Crabbe, and sighed.

"Right then, let's get down to business. We all know why we're here. Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley have committed to a duel of honour, over certain remarks made a week ago." He paused for a moment, trying to recall the book he had read the speech in. "I'm sure you know the rules. No maiming, no Dark Arts, no Unforgiveables-"

"Merlin, Harry, we don't need the full spiel," Ron said, interrupting him. Harry frowned.

"I thought we should do it properly."

"At least one of you has the right idea," Malfoy said in his best aristocratic drawl. Harry looked at him, and frowned again.

"Yeah, you're right, Ron. You know what you're doing."

Ron grinned at his friend. "Now you're talking. Shall we?"

Malfoy's only response was to whip his wand down to point at Ron. "_Incendio_!" A little blue ball of shivering fire sprang from the tip of his pale wand, racing down the piste towards Ron. The red-head blinked, surprised at the speed of Malfoy's casting, but he ducked aside quick enough. The fireball soared over the marker, bursting against a tree with a lick of flame, quickly extinguished. Ron ignored this; he was moving his wand through the motions for a spell Harry did not recognise.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

A streak of green light, and Malfoy twisted to avoid it, working his own wand in a painfully familiar motion. "_Flipendo_!"

The spell struck Ron firm in the chest, and he fell to the floor with a wheeze. Malfoy let out a crow of triumph, but Ron flicked his wand around in retaliation. He spoke so quickly Harry could not make out the incantation, but the light was silvery and it clipped Malfoy in the arm. Malfoy spat out a cry of pain, and turned his wand on Ron again.

"What the 'ell's goin' on 'ere?"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. Out of the trees on the other side of the piste came the huge, imposing figure of Hagrid, his thumbs tucked into his belt and a crossbow slung over his shoulder. He surveyed the four students, a confused look just visible through the mass of hair. "A duel? Ain't seen one of them in a while…hope you sorted it all out, lads, 'cause I'm goin' to have to take yer back now."

Harry groaned. This was precisely what he had hoped to avoid. He had researched the technicalities of duelling, but the consequences listed had been for proper, adult duels. He had no idea what stance was taken at Hogwarts – he had never heard of one taking place, now he thought of it. What were his parents going to say? Hagrid took a step closer, and Harry started. The Cloak. It was too late to avoid notice now – he couldn't be sure Hagrid had recognised him, but it would be pretty poor to simply duck out underneath it – but he had to hide it. He stuffed into his pocket as best he could, knowing it was too large but hoping it would be enough. Then he frowned. The Cloak fitted in rather nicely. How had that happened?

"Come along! And don't try and get away, I'm watchin' yer," Hagrid told them, bringing up the rear. He glanced at Harry as he shepherded them back towards the castle, and Harry felt a burst of shame. He didn't know Hagrid that well, but his parents were friends with him. He doubtless expected better.

Hagrid set a quick pace, his long strides forcing them to walk quickly. Harry could hear Ron and Malfoy muttering to each other, presumably blaming the other for their discovery. Harry glanced at Crabbe, but the other boy barely seemed to have realised what was going on, let alone be ready for a conspiratorial roll of the eyes. On reflection, fellow feeling was probably a little too much to ask from someone who couldn't spell the incantations they were taught.

As they walked throught the main doors of the castle, a new voice rang out.

"Hagrid?"

Perfect, Harry thought to himself, stopping dead where he stood. He had been hoping that they would get away with simply being taken to their respective head of house, which would have been bad enough, but being seen by Dumbledore himself? He turned around to look at the headmaster, and blinked in surprise. Dumbledore no longer carried the box that they had seen him with earlier. It didn't seem likely that he had returned it to his office; they had only just got back to the castle, after all. He looked at Ron, catching his eye. The red head shrugged – he had clearly noticed the same thing. Dumbledore swept them all with a quizzical gaze, and looked back at Hagrid.

"Enjoying the holiday, Rubeus?"

The huge man shrugged expansively. "Can't complain, sir. Just bin down to the Thestrals, one of 'em's got a broken leg, so that'll be keepin' me up fer a bit."

"Ah, do let me know if there is anything I can do," Dumbledore said. "And I presume that you young gentlemen are simply enjoying an evening stroll? A little late, of course, but sleep can be a fickle friend."

"They were duelin', Headmaster sir," Hagrid said darkly. Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up.

"Indeed? I do not believe that there has been a duel at Hogwarts for many years now. Who was winning?"

"I was!" Draco and Ron both spoke up at the same time, and promptly glared at each other. Harry snorted with laughter, and Dumbledore's beard twitched.

"I am sure that you were excellently matched. However, we do have certain guidelines regarding such actions. Rules, one might say. They are a rather obscure section of the Hogwarts standards, I will admit, but they are there should you care to peruse them…"

There was a deafening silence. Harry was staring at his shoes intently.

"Perhaps another time," Dumbledore said. "So, what to do with you all? The traditional response is expulsion…"

Harry's head shot up, his eyes wide with shock. His eyes met Dumbledore's twinkling blue ones. There was a moment's pause, stretching out for what felt like an age.

"On the other hand…" Dumbledore said carefully. Three more pairs of eyes looked up, suddenly optimistic. "It is nearly Christmas, after all. What do you think, Hagrid? Perhaps ten points a piece, and a detention to be served next term?"

"Could always confiscate their Christmas puddin' next week, sir," Hagrid suggested with a low chuckle.

"Good Heavens no, we are not monsters!" Dumbledore responded. "No, I think that will be quite suitable. And of course," and here his voice stilled a little, a more serious quality entering in, "I hope it goes without saying that any further incidents of this nature would be punished rather more seriously?"

"Yes sir," four voices said in harmony. Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction.

"Excellent. Now, it is rather late, and I am sure you all have a lot to do tomorrow. Off to bed with you, chop chop."

Malfoy and Crabbe immediately walked away, disappearing through a door on the other side of the atrium. Ron turned on his heel to walk away, but Harry lingered, a sudden curiosity prompting him to ask about the box that the headmaster no longer held. Dumbledore looked back at him.

"Was there something, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to ask…and then shut it, saying nothing. It suddenly occurred to him that not only was it none of his business, but if Dumbledore wanted to walk around the grounds at midnight and leave a box somewhere, he might not take kindly to it being public knowledge. Merlin only knew what he had been up to.

"Nothing, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

Harry walked away without another word, not even a farewell to Ron. He could feel Dumbledore watching him all the way across the atrium. It wasn't until he was safely back in bed that he felt comfortable again, and for some reason that he couldn't quite put his finger on, he packed the Cloak even deeper in his trunk than he usually did.


	6. The Boathouse

**Chapter 6: The Boathouse**

Harry screwed his eyes up in determination as he cast the spell once more.

"_Demitto fulsi!_"

There was a pause, which seemed to stretch out forever…and then a little globe of light began to form at the tip of his wand. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, a grin of pure delight breaking out on his face. It was rapidly replaced by a frown though, as the globe failed to float away but simply hung there, dangling from his wand like a last drop of pumpkin juice.

"Should that be happening?" Anthony asked.

"I don't know," Harry muttered, waving his wand from side to side. The globe began to wobble, but would not be dislodged. "They were floating in Flitwick's office, I know that."

"You've been practicing this thing for nearly six months, Harry," Anthony pointed out. "Don't you think it's time you admitted defeat?"

"No!" Harry said, scandalised. "I've nearly cracked it, look! It's just not…"

Anthony shook his head despairingly, looking back down at the paper. "Whatever. Have you got anywhere with that pineapple?"

Harry grimaced. "Not as much as I'd like. I can make it move, but it's not exactly dancing."

Anthony sniggered. "Sorry, but you've got to admit it's ridiculous. Why on earth would anyone want to make food dance?"

"I dunno, I guess maybe a prank or something," Harry said. "Hey, imagine doing it to McGonagall's boiled egg!"

"Merlin no, she'd turn you into a frog or something!"

"Nope," Harry said, shaking his head. "Teachers aren't allowed to use Transfiguration as a punishment, haven't been for years."

"Oh well, that's ok then! You should go for it in that case."

Harry stuck his tongue out. "Don't be a pillock. I'm not actually going to _do_ it." His eyes wandered back to the glowing tip of his wand, and he sighed dejectedly. He had been so sure that incantation would work. He reached out to flick the globe, and gave a little start when it stuck to his finger. When he pulled his hand away, the light came with it.

"Hey, that's cool!" Anthony said, looking up. "Sticky light!"

"Yeah, great – unless you've got a lamp. Where would I stick light?" Harry rolled the light between his fingers, studying it curiously. It tingled to the touch, but it didn't seem to be giving off any heat. The light itself wasn't particularly bright, not even as much as a candle, but he knew enough about magic to know that this would probably improve the more familiar he was with the spell. He placed his wand down, grabbing a bit of parchment and scrawling the three words down for future reference.

"You could stick it to your glasses if you were up late reading?"

Harry paused, considering this, then yelped as Anthony threw a scrunched up bit of parchment at him. "What was that for?"

"I was joking!" his friend said in what was becoming a depressingly familiar tone of exasperation. "You'd probably end up blinding yourself."

"I'll stick some to your pillow, see if you can get to sleep like that," Harry muttered. He shook his hand, trying to get rid of the light, and a nasty thought struck him. "Do you know how I can get rid of this?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"The incantation is thus: _Finite Incantatem!_"

Harry studied the flick as Flitwick demonstrated, and then moved his own wand. "_Finite Incantatem_." The light resolutely failed to extinguish, and Flitwick tutted.

"More emphasis on the 'ta', Mister Potter. Again."

"_Finite Incantatem_!" Harry said, correcting his pronunciation. The light wavered, dimming only to flicker back into existence. _"Finite Incantatem!_" he said again, more forcefully. This time, the light dimmed completely, leaving Harry's hand empty once more.

"Excellent, Harry, very good indeed!" the little wizard cried, clapping his hands. "Tell me, what led you to the book?"

"I still don't know which book it's in," Harry admitted. "I tried looking through the Charms section, but there's just so much of it! In the end, I worked out what the incantation might translate into, and worked backwards from there trying to find the right words."

Flitwick pursed his lips. "Innovative, I'll grant you, but a little slapdash. Why not simply ask an older student, or even just Madame Pince? Any one of them could have pointed you in the right direction."

"I wanted to work it out myself," Harry said defensively. That had been the whole point of the professor's challenge, hadn't it? Perhaps sensing this, Flitwick raised a hand.

"I'm not trying to criticise. You've done very well. But perhaps in future a more practical approach might be advisable?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, trying not to let his embarrassment show too much. He had just wanted to impress his Head of House, really, and he wasn't sure if he had succeeded. "I was wondering though…what's it for?"

"No suggestions?"

Harry bit back a groan with difficulty. This was the problem with being in Ravenclaw; he liked studying, he liked reading, and he liked working things out. That didn't mean he liked doing it all the time! People just didn't seem to understand that. Nevertheless, he sat there for a moment, working the question over in his head.

"Anthony thought it might be for freeing up your wand in the dark, I guess…" There was no way he was going to tell Flitwick the precise use his friend had suggested. "It doesn't seem all that practical though."

"I would agree, although it's not altogether a bad idea," Flitwick said with a bob of his head. "There are far more useful spells that would suit such a situation. But what about you? What do you think?"

"I don't really know, sir," Harry said. "Although…it is quite pretty…"

"Yes?" Flitwick murmured encouragingly.

Harry thought back to the display he had seen in Flitwick's office months ago. He hadn't really paid attention to the detail of the lights, simply marvelling at what they were, but now that he thought about it there was something distinctive about the way they had been floating. "Are they like ornaments, sir?"

"Well done, Harry!" Flitwick cried out, clapping his little hands together rapidly. "Very well done indeed! The spell was designed for people to conjure their own baubles for Christmas trees, hence the 'stickiness' – no danger of a cat knocking one of these off, I can tell you. You've probably seen them at home without really knowing it, as it happens. Your mother loved them too, when she was at Hogwarts."

"We always use Muggle decorations, so I can help out," Harry told him, and Flitwick smiled.

"Well, maybe one day, when you're older. But yes, an excellent job, Mister Potter. Take thirty house points for Ravenclaw."

"Thank you, sir!"

The tiny wizard smiled. "No need to thank me; you really have done a splendid job. How are you getting on with the Cheering Charm?"

"Pretty well," Harry said. "It took me a while, but I've got it now. I think."

"Excellent! Well, perhaps a demonstration?"

"On what?" Harry asked him.

"Well, on me of course!" the tiny wizard said with a chuckle. Harry blinked, sitting back in his chair, and Flitwick waved his hands in an encouraging gesture. "Come on, don't be shy! I'm a very good test subject, I assure you."

"Oh…well, ok then," Harry said, still uncertain. He drew his wand again, and pointed it at the professor. Flitwick nodded his head with another smile, and Harry took a deep breath before casting the spell. There was a flash of light, washing over Flitwick's wrinkled face, and the professor immediately broke out in a fit of giggles. Harry caught a flash of teeth that looked distinctly pointier than the average wizard's before Flitwick twirled his own wand, his merriment ceasing – or at least, returning to its usual state.

"Yes, you do seem to have got it down rather nicely, Harry. I think another fifteen points would be in order."

Harry started to stutter out further thanks, all but glowing with pride, but Flitwick waved his words away. "Don't be silly, Harry. Effort deserves reward, after all, especially when so successful. Have you thought about any further projects?"

"Maybe next year," Harry blurted out without thinking. Flitwick laughed loudly.

"Magic isn't an easy business, my boy, but stick at it. I have a feeling you're going to go far."

Harry stood up, grinning sheepishly. "I'll do my best, sir. See you in class." He walked away, leaving Flitwick to his marking, but as he reached the door a thought struck him. "Sir? About the baubles…"

"What about them, Harry?" Flitwick said, squinting at him through his glasses.

"How did you get them to float like that? They just seem to stick to things for me."

Flitwick lips curved in a secretive smile. "Ah. Well, that's just a simple matter of convincing yourself that you can stick them to air, Harry." When Harry stared at him, his expression disbelieving, Flitwick chuckled. "When you get right down to it, Harry, a lot of magic is simply a matter of intent and willpower. Try it sometime. Farewell."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Will you _please_ give it a rest with that bloody spell!" Ron snapped, glaring at his friend.

"Language, Ron!"

Harry repressed a grin as Hermione shot an admonishing look at Ron, who was now practically giving off steam. They hadn't actually invited her to sit with them, but Harry didn't mind enough to tell her to go away. Ron _did_, but had so far managed to avoid actually being rude to her face. It probably wouldn't last, but Harry felt it was doing the red head good to socialise with her. If nothing else, it was a good test of his willpower. Mindful of his friend's goodwill though, he gave a little twirl of his wand, muttering _"Finite Incantatem"_ as he did so. The little globe of light that he had attached to the end of Ron's quill vanished, and he duly put his wand away. He still hadn't managed to stick any of them to thin air, as Flitwick had assured him was possible, but it was within reach, he was sure of it.

"I really can't believe more people don't use that spell," Hermione said reflectively. "It seems very useful. What did you say the incantation was?"

Harry scribbled it down on a piece of parchment, passing it across the table to her. "I don't see how. How's it more useful than a lantern? Or even a torch?"

"Well, if you could cast this you wouldn't need a lantern, would you?" Hermione said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Or candles. You could even replace electricity!"

"Only for lightbulbs," Harry pointed out. "And if you tried that you'd get hauled away for a serious breach of the Statute of Secrecy."

"Well, alright," she conceded," but I'm right about the candles, you've got to admit that."

"How can you two read so much and still not know the first thing about magic?" Ron said irritably. "Magic doesn't last forever, you know."

"Neither does a candle," Hermione retorted in unusually stubborn tones. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but you know how long a candle will last. You can't guarantee how long a spell will last. If you could, we could just transfigure up a decent house."

There was a moments' awkward silence. Harry rather liked the Burrow, but it wasn't exactly the height of luxury. Hermione, of course, had no idea what Ron's family was like, beyond those still at Hogwarts, and her eyes darted between Ron and Harry, trying to work out what Ron had meant. When it became apparent that an explanation was not going to be forthcoming, she returned to her questions. "But why can't you be sure how long a spell will last? It must be fairly standard, surely?"

"I don't know," Ron said with a shrug, doodling idly. "It's magic. Who cares?"

"Honestly, if you can't be bothered to take even a little bit of interest –"

"Hermione, nobody knows that sort of thing," Harry said hurriedly, before the bickering blew up into a full scale argument. It might even be true, for all he knew.

"Oh," Hermione said, settling back and frowning. "Why not?"

"Because we just don't!" Ron exclaimed, throwing his quill down. "Magic works by magic, end of!"

Harry sighed and gathered his things together. The afternoon was only going to go downhill from here, and frankly he could think of a lot of better ways to spend a balmy summers day. Maybe he would wander down to Hagrid's; the groundskeeper would probably have done most of his work for the day by now, and he could usually be persuaded to sit around for an hour or so and talk about Hogwarts. He probably knew more about the castle and its grounds than anyone except Dumbledore and Filch, and neither one of them was very approachable, in their own way. As he meandered across the courtyard, he heard the sound of insults volleying back and forth, and he shook his head. Hopefully it would blow over soon.

Passing through the simple stone arch that gated the little quad, someone called his name. Looking around, he spotted Anthony and another of their dorm-mates, Terry Boot. They had laid out a carefully constructed circle, and appeared to be practicing their Defence charms. Harry adjusted his course to join them, grinning as Anthony successfully dodged a blue ball of light, almost invisible in the bright sunlight, before nailing Terry with a flash of light. Terry ended up on his back, looking up at the clouds, and Anthony let out a little cry of triumph. Harry applauded politely as he came to the edge of the circle, and Anthony bowed.

"Thank you, thank you. Best of three, Terry?"

"No thanks," the other boy said with a shake of his head. "That was enough for me, I'm all puffed out."

"Pff. Lightweight," Anthony said playfully.

"If you want some competition…" Harry said. Anthony shuddered.

"No thanks. I'm still feeling good about how much I've improved."

"I'm not that much better."

"Yeah, but you _are_ better," Anthony stressed. "Where've you been, anyway?"

"Just in the quad," Harry said, tilting his head in the direction he had just come. "I was hanging out with Ron. And Hermione."

"Lucky you," Terry murmured, still lying on the floor. He had adjusted himself so that he was lying with his hands folded beneath his head, and he had closed his eyes. "Was she on form?"

"She did get into a bit of an argument about magic with Ron, yes," Harry admitted. "She's not so bad though. She just wants to know…everything, actually."

"Why'd she go to Gryffindor then?" Anthony said. "We're the smart ones."

"Harry and I, maybe," Terry said, opening one eye to look up at him. "Not you."

Harry chuckled, and Anthony glared down at the other boy. "Yeah, well, nuts to you, Boot. You know what I mean."

"I think the Hat probably puts a bit more into it than 'You're smart, Ravenclaw!', or 'You're a git, Slytherin!'" Harry said.

"Then why do all the gits end up there?" Terry asked, before looking around to make sure that none of the gits in question were in earshot. "Seriously, everyone in our year I don't like is in Slytherin."

"Then why didn't Hermione go there?" Harry reasoned as Anthony nodded in agreement with Terry. The two boys paused, sharing a glance.

"Fair point," Anthony said, grudgingly. Terry sat up, yawning, and stretched.

"Anybody else hungry? I'm starving."

"I was just going down to see Hagrid," Harry suggested. "He's usually got some cakes, and he loves company."

Terry winced. "Yeah, I saw the cake you brought back. I want something I can actually chew, thanks. See you later?"

Harry and Anthony waved as he got up and headed back towards the castle, his bag slung over his shoulder. In unspoken agreement, the two friends got up themselves, and set off down the hill towards Hagrid's hut. There was a little plume of smoke wafting up from the chimney, so Hagrid probably had the kettle on already.

They were nearly there when something bumped into Harry's shoulder. He looked behind him, and found a bit of paper hovering there. As he stood there, it nudged him again.

"What's that?" Anthony asked curiously. Harry plucked it out of the air, and unfolded it.

"It's a letter…from Dumbledore," he said as he read it. "He wants me to meet him down at the boathouse tonight."

"Why on earth would Dumbledore want to see you anywhere, never mind the boathouse?" Anthony said, confused. Harry shrugged, just as confused, and then read further.

"Oh…he says not to tell anyone…" He looked at Anthony sheepishly.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anybody else. But seriously, why does he want to see you?"

"Might be something to do with Halloween…" Harry said slowly. He hadn't yet told Anthony – anyone, apart from his parents – about what had really happened at Halloween. Now, his friend was looking at him with confusion written all over his face.

"What happened at Halloween?"

"Well…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Later that night, Harry made his way down to the boathouse, shrouded in the Invisibility Cloak. When he had been with Ron, heading to the duel, his heart had been in his mouth all the way there. Now, despite being alone this time, he felt much calmer. Even if he did have the misfortune to run into Filch, he was out with Dumbledore's explicit instruction. He had nothing to worry about.

Although it would have been nice, if Dumbledore was so anxious to see him after curfew, for him to have left him some convenient way of getting out of the castle. The doors were barred, as was tradition, and while Harry thought he could get them open, getting them closed again was another matter – especially without attracting attention. Dumbledore might want to see him, but he didn't think the Headmaster would appreciate having to clear up after him. In the end, he climbed out of a window from an adjoining room, lowering himself to the ground with a carefully applied charm.

The moon was high in the sky, and he did not need to use his wand to light his way. Once out of the castle, he felt secure enough to quicken his pace. The steps down to the boathouse still had torches blazing along the rails, and he was amused to note that despite the flickering light, he still had no shadow. As he approached the boathouse itself, he heard movement inside. He slowed, and took the Cloak off, pressing it into his robe pocket. Once again, it seemed to shrink to fit his needs, although it seemed more likely that he was just better at packing than he thought. He walked through the door, calling out in greeting to the Headmaster.

The boathouse was dark, lit only by the light streaming in through the doorway. Unsettled, Harry drew his wand, preparing to cast a spell. And then the door slammed shut behind him, and something brushed past his legs. He whirled round, barking out an incantation. Light burst from the tip of his wand, and something reared up in front of him, hissing through vast, snapping jaws. He gasped, nearly screaming, and dropped his wand. He heard it clatter to the floor as the creature disappeared, the sounds of its hissing still filling his ears.

Dropping to the floor, he scrabbled for it, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts, and then someone spoke.

"Mister Potter, I presume? A pleasure to see you again…"

Harry looked up, the high, cold voice sending a shiver of fear down his spine. Above him, only just visible, was a smooth, pale face, two red eyes burning in the midst of it. Voldemort smiled thinly, and raised a hand. The weirdly long fingers were wrapped around Harry's wand, and he tapped it thoughtfully against his chin.

"I have need of your assistance, Harry. I trust this will not be a problem for you?"


	7. The Wand in the Stone

**Chapter 7: The Wand in the Stone**

Harry bit back a cry of terror as Voldemort spoke. What could the Dark wizard possibly want with him? As if reading his thoughts, Voldemort smiled.

"You needn't worry; I assure you, you will find it quite within your ability. Really, all I require of you is to pick something up for me."

"That…that's it?" Harry stammered.

"That's it. One simple task, and then we can go our separate ways."

"How did you know I was going to be here?" Harry asked, playing for time. Behind him, the monstrous snake hissed, a sound of amusement somehow, and Voldemort gave a theatrical sigh.

"Really, I'm surprised that someone of your apparent intellect fell for such a ruse. Still, you are young, I suppose."

Harry felt himself flush. Of course. Anthony had said it right there – why would Dumbledore want to see him, especially in so secretive a manner? He couldn't believe he had come here. On the other hand, Anthony _did_ know where he was…true, he had been asleep when Harry had left, but he could wake up, panic. Maybe he might even go to Dumbledore. Worried that he wasn't just being paranoid, that Voldemort really could read his thoughts, he pushed the hope away hurriedly, trying to think of anything else.

The Dark wizard was thinking of other things though. Turning away from Harry, he waved his own wand over the water that was gently lapping at the dock. As he moved the pale stick, the water began to churn, circling in little eddies faster and faster. Voldemort hissed something unintelligible, and the snake hissed back. Harry stared as he realised that the two were actually talking to each other. He had read stories where such things happened, but he had never thought he would actually see it happening. Voldemort turned his burning eyes to Harry and his lips curled in amusement. He gave another hiss, a short, harsh sound, and the snake slithered over, weaving in a coil around Harry. He stiffened, shutting his eyes tightly. '_This isn't happening, this isn't happening…_'

"Come here, boy."

Harry took a faltering step forward before he had even thought about it, and immediately berated himself. His father would be ashamed! The wizard his parents had devoted so much time to fighting against, and he wasn't even trying to be defiant. He opened his eyes and his mouth, intending to refuse the command, but Voldemort's wand flashed. Brilliant light appeared around Harry's hands, binding them together, and all thought of defiance left him.

"I apologise for the treatment, Harry, but as I said, I require your assistance, and our journey will not be…delicate." Voldemort yanked his wand upwards, and the bonds on Harry's wrists jerked, tugging him forward. He came to a halt at Voldemort's side, almost falling into the whirlpool that he had created beneath them. "Treating one of such…illustrious lineage as yours truly pains me, but I cannot have you harmed."

"You tried to kill me at Halloween," Harry whispered, more to himself than to Voldemort. The Dark wizard heard him, however.

"True, but if I had only known!"

Harry looked up at him, wanting to ask what he meant, but before he could say anything Voldemort swept his arm over them both in a great arc. The air shimmered slightly where the wand passed, but otherwise nothing appeared to happen. And then Voldemort took a tight grip on Harry's shoulder, and stepped off the pier, pulling Harry with him. The great snake slithered after them, staying close behind.

As they hit the water, Harry let out a scream, but he quickly cut himself off, confused. They were completely submerged, and sinking further and further at an alarming speed, but he was bone dry. In fact, the water was hazy, even taking into account the whirlpool. It was only then that he realised he was having no trouble breathing. The shimmer in the air – "It's a bubble, isn't it?" he said, not expecting an answer.

"Of course," Voldemort said with a snort. "We were hardly going to swim down here, boy."

They fell through the water for several minutes, and with each passing second Harry's astonishment grew. At the speed they were falling, they must have reached a dreadful depth. How deep was the lake? More importantly, what could Voldemort possibly want at the bottom of it? After maybe five minutes, the whirling water stopped, the water becoming peaceful, but the bubble still travelled further down. Looking at his feet, Harry could see something below them; not something he recognised, but a darker patch against the already dark water. Voldemort gave a gentle flick of his wand, and the bubble changed course slightly, heading for the darkness. A moment later, Harry realised that it was a canyon, carved into the rocky bed.

As they sank deeper into it, Voldemort lit his wand, the light shining imperfectly through the bubble surrounding them. The rock walls were impossibly smooth, far more so than any natural formation.

"What is this place?" Harry asked. The snake hissed at him, raising its head from its place in front of him, its tongue flickering in and out unnervingly.

"Quiet, Nagini," Voldemort said absently. "This, Harry, is the place of Albus Dumbledore's greatest weakness. His greatest weakness, and his greatest shame. He thought he could hide it from the world here, but not from me." The Dark wizard laughed. "He can hide nothing from me, in the end."

Harry looked away. He didn't believe it. What could Dumbledore possibly have to be ashamed of? And weak? He was the greatest wizard in the world, he made Voldemort look like a Muggle conjuror – there was nothing weak about him.

Suddenly, the bubble was rocked by a sudden impact, and Harry fell forward. He caught himself, but only just; Nagini hissed at him and slithered closer to Voldemort, her dry skin rustling over his hand. He shuddered, pulling away in fright. They had reached the bottom of the canyon. Another wave of Voldemort's wand, and the bubble began to move sideways, bumping through sand and over rocks. After a moment, Harry spotted the mouth of a cave, even blacker than the canyon itself. Inevitably, the bubble passed through the mouth; Voldemort gave a sharp jerk of his wand, and the bubble burst around them. Harry started, expecting to be surrounded by water, but the cave was empty. He looked back at the mouth, and saw the water rippling gently against it. Some unseen force kept it out, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Voldemort jerked his wand, and Harry was pulled after him as the Dark wizard walked off, light streaming before him. Again, Harry noted as they walked, the cave seemed far too perfectly formed to be natural, and he had a vision of Dumbledore standing down here, steadily etching it out with magical fire. Whatever Voldemort believed was down here, it must have been incredibly important. Or dangerous. Could it be a weapon of some kind?

And then there was light.

The path had opened out into a vast cavern, lit by enormous quantities of a glowing fungus that Harry had never seen before. By its light, Harry could see a pool in the centre of the cavern; in the centre of that stood a little island, with a rock formation jutting out from the centre. Voldemort hissed in the unnatural language once more, and Nagini slithered away, her tongue darting out. Periodically she would stop, tasting the air before turning to Voldemort and hissing. Whenever she did so, Voldemort nodded to himself, and moved his wand through various complex motions. The air wavered, and the longer this went on, the clearer the air felt. Harry watched him carefully for a while, trying to memorise the wand movements as best he could, when it occurred to him that letting Voldemort do as he pleased unhindered probably wasn't the best thing he could be doing.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

"That is none of your concern," Voldemort responded, not looking away from his work. There was a flash of light, and he nodded in satisfaction.

"It's just that I've never seen magic like this before, and I was wondering –"

"If you do not stop prattling, I will have Nagini bite out your voicebox," Voldemort said. He spoke matter of factly, not turning his head even slightly, and Harry knew without a doubt that it was not an idle threat. "And if you are wondering how I will do that when I still have need of you…" And now he did turn to face Harry, his eyes ablaze with power. "If you are wondering about that, then you know nothing of true magic."

Harry fell silent. Voldemort smiled, flashing fangs, and turned back to his work. Minutes passed in near silence, punctuated only by the occasional hiss from Nagini as she worked her way around the cavern, and infrequent noises as Voldemort worked his magic. Eventually, Voldemort lowered his wand, and hissed to Nagini. She slithered back towards him, and Voldemort turned to Harry.

"Your time is now, Harry. Step forward."

Harry hesitated for just a second, and the red eyes flashed. "Now!" The bonds on his wrists burned, and he stumbled forward, yelping in pain. Voldemort caught him, digging his fingers into his shoulder for a second. "When I give you an order, I expect you to follow it immediately, do you understand?"

Harry said nothing, sullen in his pain, and Voldemort's grip tightened. "I said, do you understand?"

"Yes!" Harry cried out.

"Better. Now, in the centre of the pool is an island, and on the island is a rock. Go to it, and tell me what you see."

Unwillingly, but scared of what might happen, Harry scurried away from the Dark wizard towards the water. There was something about it that seemed off to him; as he got closer, he realised that it did not reflect the strange light shining from the walls. He slowed as he got closer, wary of something – a protective charm, maybe? Dumbledore wouldn't have relied solely on secrecy, he was sure. But then, he realised, what else could Voldemort have been doing? Any protections that had been laid down were gone now, he was sure of it. Resigned to it, he set one foot in the water. Immediately he drew back with a yelp. The water was bitterly cold, seeming to flow up his body. A ripple spread out from where he had stood, and then the water erupted.

Crying out in shock, Harry fell backwards as an enormous figure loomed out of the water, raising vast dripping arms above a blurry head. Harry stared upwards in shock as one of the fists fell towards him, ready to crush – and then Voldemort barked out an incantation behind him. A jet of light struck the watery form, and silvery fire burst over it, spreading in the blink of an eye. The form recoiled, trying to pat the flames out, but the spell was too strong. The guardian sank back into the pool within seconds, and the water was still once more. Harry cast a wild eyed look over his shoulder, trying to silently plead with his captor, but Voldemort was implacable. His bonds burned again, and Harry clambered to his feet once more.

This time, when he set foot in the water, nothing happened. A second step, and still nothing. He looked back at Voldemort again, and the Dark wizard snarled. "Get on with it!"

Harry moved, almost breaking into a run. The pool was deceptively small; in no time at all, it seemed, he had reached the island and was stepping onto the shore, his shoes and socks soaked through.

"What can you see?" Voldemort called. Harry stepped towards the rock formation in the centre, and frowned. Jutting from the top was…was it a wand? He leant closer, squinting through the strange light.

"I think it's a wand!" he called back, not taking his eyes off it. He heard Voldemort let out a sigh, one of long awaited relief.

"Bring it to me."

Mindful of what might happen if he didn't, Harry stretched out his bound hands to the wand – and paused, suddenly thoughtful. Voldemort had bypassed all the other protections easily enough. The water…whatever it had been seemed to have escaped his notice, true, but when it had appeared he had destroyed it in seconds. Why then could he not take the wand himself? Some protection that he could not break? And if Voldemort could not break it, then what hope had Harry of getting past it without injury?

He stood up straight and turned his back on the wand. "Why should I?"

"Do you really wish me to detail precisely what I will do to you if you defy me, Potter?" Voldemort said, quietly. "You are completely within my power, do not forget that."

"If you need me to get it for you, you must not be able to touch it yourself," Harry said, blundering on while trying not to think about the implications of Voldemort's statement. "For all I know, I'll die if I touch it."

Voldemort threw his head back with a cold laugh. "The wand was placed here by Albus Dumbledore. Do you really know so little of him that you think he would lay enchantments to kill?"

It was a fair point, Harry had to admit, if only to himself. Under those circumstances, it seemed likely he would survive touching the wand, at least. But…he had heard stories of Dumbledore. To be quite honest, he had eavesdropped on stories, late at night when Remus, Sirius and Peter were at Godric's Hollow, and he was supposed to be in bed. Dumbledore was Wizarding Britain's shining light, but when pressed…Harry knew that the Headmaster could be dangerous. And there were worse things than death.

On balance though, it did not seem likely than Dumbledore would do anything worse than Voldemort would. Besides – and Harry smiled to himself as the thought struck him – picking up the wand did not mean giving it to his captor. Steeling himself, he bent down, and took the wand in his hands, the movement awkward with the bonds still trapping him.

He immediately felt the wand stir, a sensation familiar from his trip to Ollivander's months ago. He had been thrilled then; now though, he let out a gasp at the feeling of power that rushed up his arm. The wand came away from the rock with barely a pull, settling into his fingers as if it had been carved specially for him.

"Do you have it?" Voldemort called.

Harry did not answer, but fumbled the wand into a reverse grip. "_Finite Incantatem,_" he muttered, sending mental thanks to Flitwick. The burning bonds instantly vanished, and Harry pressed the wand tightly into his wand hand. He was free. Now he had only to…to…his heart sank. He had only to get past Voldemort, work out a way to travel what must have been several hundred if not thousands of feet up through the icy water, and get back to the castle without getting killed. It was an impossible hope, and he knew it.

The smart thing to do would be to give Voldemort the wand. There was a chance – a tiny, infinitely small chance – that the Dark wizard would honour his word and let Harry go free. Once away, Harry could alert Dumbledore. No matter the power of the wand, Dumbledore could surely reclaim it. That was the smart course of action. But then…a little shiver of resolve ran down his spine, and it occurred to Harry that maybe he had inherited more of his parents' Gryffindor tendencies than any of them had thought. He turned to Voldemort, displaying his unbound wrists, his jaw set.

"You're not going to have this wand."

Voldemort chuckled, and raised his wand. "I promise you, you're quite wrong about that."

There was a movement behind Voldemort, and Harry broke out in the widest grin he had ever managed. "I'm really not."

"You think you can defeat me?" Voldemort said, sounding genuinely amused.

"I don't have to," Harry said, pointing over Voldemort's shoulder. For a second, concern flickered over Voldemort's face. Then there was a rush of wind, and he was bowled from his feet, landing with a splash in the pool. Behind him stood Albus Dumbledore, his expression one of fury and thunder and his wand raised high above his head in the final motions of a spell.

Starting to climb to his feet, Voldemort weakly raised his own wand. Dumbledore riposted with a simple downward swipe; Harry felt his hair crackle with static energy from the force of the spell, and it sizzled as it struck Voldemort, but although it washed over Harry as well, he felt nothing other than an uplifting warmth. Dumbledore took a step forward, bending to pick something up before approaching his foe. Coughing, Voldemort dragged his wand through the water surrounding him. There was a crackle as it froze over, a wall of ice leaping up around the island. Dumbledore regarded it with cool eyes, and began to pace around the waters' edge. Voldemort shifted to keep him in sight.

"So. Playing to the death tonight, are we?" Voldemort murmured as he watched the Headmaster walk.

"I am frankly disappointed that you would expect anything less of me, under the circumstances," Dumbledore replied. "I warned you what would happen if you brought my students into this affair, and now I am afraid you will have to face the consequences for the first time in your life."

Voldemort let out a thin laugh. "Really, Albus, are you sure you have the mettle for that? To kill someone…you are never quite the same again. Although of course, you would know that already, wouldn't you?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, and without breaking stride he jabbed his wand at Voldemort's icy wall. There was a crack, and jagged lines began to run along it. Voldemort twitched, clearly startled that his defences were so easily breached.

"You say that, Tom, yet you are the one hiding. If you are so confident, why not try to leave?"

Voldemort's eyes slid towards Harry, and he flicked his wand. Harry felt himself being abruptly yanked towards the Dark wizard, nearly dropping the wand. He flew directly into Voldemort's grip, and the wizard held him up for Dumbledore to see. "Why would I want to leave? Here, I have all the advantages."

Dumbledore stopped moving, watching Voldemort carefully. "Let him go, Tom. This is beneath you."

"You persist in appealing to my honour yet make it perfectly clear you do not believe I have any," Voldemort spat. "I have the boy and the wand. Let me pass and I will let him live."

"You wish me to let you pass?" Dumbledore smiled. "That suggests you are not quite so confident as you might like me to believe…"

"Merely practical," Voldemort said, his fingers tightening against Harry's neck. "I do not have the time for a duel tonight, alas."

Dumbledore rolled his shoulders into an expansive shrug. "Then you will not have one." And with that, he stabbed his wand forward, towards the ice wall. It exploded, showering the cavern with razor sharp shards of ice. Voldemort whipped his wand around, fashioning a bubble similar to the one they had travelled down through the lake in around them; the shards were deflected with ease. Dumbledore did not appear to be concerned by this – he merely walked towards them, heedless of the water soaking into the hem of his robes.

Snarling, Voldemort raised his wand high above his head, and hissed something Harry could not understand. Darkness began to stream from the tip of the pale wood, prompting Dumbledore to take a step back. The darkness quickly quenched the light from the fungi, and within seconds Harry could see nothing apart from Voldemort himself.

"_Lumos!_" Dumbledore's voice rang out clear and true, but the spell did not work. "Hmm. I am actually quite impressed, Tom."

Voldemort did not respond, but pushed Harry to the floor. Towering over him, he stretched out his hand. "Give me the wand, Potter. Now."

Harry looked over his shoulder. Dumbledore was still obscured, although he could hear the Headmaster muttering different spells to himself. The darkness resisted all attempts to banish it though. Looking back, he took a deep breath, and held the wand out towards Voldemort. Voldemort's red eyes lit up with triumph, and he closed his fingers around the tip.

"_Demitto Fulsi!_" Harry cried out, putting as much effort into the spell as he could manage. A little ball of light sprang from the wand, glowing brightly, brighter than he had ever managed before, and clung to Voldemort's fingers like glue. Voldemort slapped Harry's hand away and aimed his wand at his head, his mouth opening to craft a spell –

And Harry was pulled backwards, floating fast through the air to come to rest at Dumbledore's side. He could not see the Headmaster, only feel his robes as he landed back in the water, but Voldemort was plainly visible, the light still clinging to him.

"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said, and then he pulled the wand from Harry's grip. He raised it in one swift, effortless motion, and golden fire erupted from the wand, scorching the darkness away around it. Voldemort conjured a shield in front of him, a smooth disc almost as big as he was, but the golden flames ate it away in the blink of an eye, carrying on through to burn at the arm behind it.

Voldemort screamed.

Wherever the flame touched Voldemort, it consumed him. The sleeve of his robe was destroyed almost instantly; skin took longer, long enough for him to snatch his wand with his untouched hand. Backing away from the Headmaster, he waved his wand feverishly over the flames licking their way up his arm, but they would not be extinguished. Precious seconds later, he looked up, fixing Dumbledore with a murderous expression. Then, holding his wand just below his shoulder, he made a cutting motion.

His wand arm fell away, still ablaze, and landed on the rough floor next to the rocky formation. As Harry watched, it crumbled to ash.

"As I told you, Tom," Dumbledore said, a hint of regret in his voice. "Consequences."

Voldemort's eyes, narrowed already from pain, became slits. "I am going to destroy you, Dumbledore. The Hallows will be mine."

"But not today."

Voldemort's only response was to cast a spell that shook the cavern. The glowing fungi began to wither, and cracks appeared in the ceiling, prompting Dumbledore to look around in alarm. Harry cried out in warning as Voldemort disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, engulfing Nagini alongside him, but the smoke was already racing away, out of the cavern and up the path.

"Do not worry, Harry," Dumbledore said, squeezing his shoulder. "I fancy Voldemort will not be causing trouble for quite a while, now. Are you alright?"

"I – yes, but –"

"Harry. _Do. Not. Worry._" Dumbledore knelt down to look him in the eye. "We are perfectly safe."

"Safe?" Harry almost screamed. "The cave is collapsing!"

"Yes, but you are, if I might be so immodest, with me." Taking Harry's hand, Dumbledore set off back towards the mouth of the cave, walking no quicker than if they were on a leisurely afternoon stroll through the grounds. His wand – his own wand, not the wand he had reclaimed from Harry – hung loosely at his side, but despite this no rock fell anywhere near them. As they walked along the passage, there was a deafening crash. When Harry looked behind them, all he could see was fallen rock and a rapidly expanding dust cloud. He tugged at Dumbledore's sleeve, but the Headmaster did not quicken his pace.

When they reached the mouth of the cave, the water still rippling against it but not breaking through, Dumbledore stopped.

"Sir? Sir, how are we going to get out?"

"Have you met Fawkes?" Dumbledore asked conversationally. Harry frowned, and then a ring of fire burst above Dumbledore's shoulder. A majestic, fiery feathered bird appeared, flapping down onto Dumbledore's shoulder. It let out a trill which cut through all of Harry's fear and panic, and then Dumbledore took his hand with a smile. There was a rushing sound…

And they were stood in Dumbledore's office. Harry let go of the Headmaster's hand, turning on the spot and gaping.

"Sir…how…?"

"Well, that was quite an adventure, wasn't it?" Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together. "Although I could have sworn that you were going to avoid this sort of thing in the future, Harry. Still, even the best of us can occasionally stumble into these things by mistake."

An adventure? Harry stared at him, dumb-founded. Who in their right mind would call that an adventure?

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Lily gently brushed Harry's fringe across his brow as he lay there, sleeping soundly under the influence of a Dreamless Sleep potion. James was pacing up and down in front of the bed, occasionally swiping away his own fringe in fits of nervous energy. They waited in silence, guarding their son until, several minutes later, Dumbledore walked into the room. James immediately opened his mouth to address him, but Dumbledore walked past them, putting something on Harry's bedside table.

"I took the liberty of retrieving this for Harry earlier," Dumbledore explained. "It is a fine wand; walnut, yes?"

Lily nodded. "And unicorn hair for the core. Why?"

"Oh, merely curiosity, Lily, merely curiosity." Dumbledore looked around for a seat, tutted, then waved his own wand. A truly hideous chintz armchair appeared out of thin air, and the Headmaster sank into it with a sigh of contentment. "Ah…much better. Forgive me, but when one reaches such an age as I have, these wooden seats no longer provide quite adequate levels of comfort, I'm afraid."

"Albus…" James said, cutting the older wizard off. "I don't give a damn what you sit in; what the hell happened tonight?"

A pained expression passed fleetingly across Dumbledore's face. "Yes, of course. I must apologise to you both, and to Harry when he awakes. I never intended that he should be caught up in this." He hesitated for a moment, marshalling his thoughts, but before Lily or James could encourage him further he spoke again. "For some time now, it has become clear to me that I – and, for that matter, the Order – must become more proactive in the struggle against Voldemort and his followers. To that end, I devised a trap of sorts, designed to entice Voldemort here and defeat him."

"Great job," James muttered, leaning against a wall and glaring at the Headmaster. "This was your grand plan? Lure the most dangerous wizard alive to a _school_? Genius, absolute genius."

Dumbledore frowned, leaning back slightly in his chair and rearranging his beard. "I might point out that Voldemort did not actually try to enter the school at all; the students – with the exception of Harry, I admit – were perfectly safe."

Lily could see that as far as James was concerned, this was not going to wash; he had never been the passive type and he was clearly working himself up into such a frenzy that he would say something to his mentor that he would bitterly regret. Before he could speak, she cut in. "There's no use bickering about blame, James. It's Voldemort. Everything goes wrong when he gets involved."

James looked at her, and she smiled encouragingly at him. He hesitated for a moment, then flashed her a rueful grin. "I guess. Sorry, Albus."

"You have nothing to apologise for, James," Dumbledore replied. "Quite the opposite, in fact." His eyes, more tired than Lily had ever seen them, drifted back towards Harry, and the old Headmaster let out a sigh. "I do perhaps have a tendency to think more of the bigger picture than of more immediate matters. To have Harry become involved is inexcusable."

"We both know you didn't plan for that, Albus," Lily said gently, and James nodded.

"No. Well, you can rest assured that nothing of the sort will happen again!"

"Shame; I liked the sound of being more proactive," James said grimly. Dumbledore smiled, a startlingly cold expression on his normally jovial and welcoming face.

"Do not worry yourself on that score, my friend. We will be vigilant of course, but I do not believe that Voldemort will be in any condition to head up a campaign of any sort for quite some time. If you will forgive my lack of modesty, I…well, let us simply say that I was unrestrained."

Lily repressed a shudder, overcome with a sense of unease. Perhaps it was that strange smile…but she had read about the last time that Albus Dumbledore had weaved magic in anger against an enemy. There wasn't a wizard or witch born in the last fifty years who hadn't. Dumbledore's duel against Grindlewald was the stuff of legend – and, for some even now, the stuff of nightmares. Voldemort deserved it, of that she had no doubt. The fact that Harry had been witness to it disturbed her greatly though. He was only a boy.

She wondered if James was having similar thoughts. Certainly, her husband had not said anything in response to Dumbledore's statement. Indeed, silence had fallen over the room, the loudest sound Harry's deep, undisturbed breathing. After a while, Dumbledore eased himself to his feet, placing his hands on his knees to push himself upward.

"Alas, time presses ever onwards, and I am afraid I must be leaving. A room has been prepared for you, if you wish to stay the night; just call for a house-elf if you wish. I shall be back to talk to Harry in the morning."

"Good night, Albus," Lily said with a nod. The Headmaster bowed to her, and left the room, his robes swishing behind him. James watched him go, a frown flickering over his face as the door closed. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Probably nothing. I just…I don't think Albus was telling us the truth just now."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that trap story – did it sound plausible to you?"

Lily ran the conversation back in her head as best she could, head tilted back in thought. Nothing had leapt out at her as being particularly out of place, and she said as much. James did not look convinced.

"I know he worries about the big picture and all that jazz, but I really can't see him pulling a stunt like this deliberately. I know Harry wasn't supposed to be involved, but he had to know that tempting Voldemort here was going to endanger the children somehow. It's Voldemort; how couldn't it?"

"Perhaps he's just not as perfect as you think he is," Lily suggested, leaning over to straighten the edge of Harry's duvet. Her son shifted slightly in his sleep, his mouth falling open. She smiled as his deep breathing turned to vibrant snores, and she looked across at James, an impish expression on her face. "Just like his father."

"Hush, you," James responded with a mock glare. "And I know Dumbledore isn't perfect. But…" he tailed off, shaking his head in exasperation. "I don't know. This just doesn't seem _right_."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry's eyes drifted slowly open from the most relaxing night's sleep he could remember in a very long time. Sunlight streamed through the glass in the window, the sound of birdsong just outside making the day seem even brighter. He sat up, yawning and stretching, and looked over at Anthony's bed to see if his friend was awake yet.

He wasn't in the Ravenclaw dormitory. He blinked, confused at the sight of the Hospital Wing, and then he remembered what had happened last night. A chill spread through him, and he huddled back into the bed, drawing the duvet around himself. Looking around nervously, he was relieved to find that he was alone. His eyes fell upon the length of wood resting on the bedside table, and he seized it. His wand. As he closed his fingers around it, he could have sworn that the walnut vibrated slightly, as if registering its pleasure at being reunited with its chosen wizard. It was nothing like the power he had felt when he had taken up the wand in the stone the previous evening, but it was infinitely more reassuring.

"I thought you would be happy to have that back."

Harry started, scolding himself even as he did so. He had nothing to fear from Dumbledore, even if he was sneaking up on him – now he thought about it, Dumbledore always seemed to be sneaking up on people. Almost every time he had met the Headmaster, he had popped up out of nowhere. Now, he stood in the doorway to the Hospital Wing, a genial smile on his face and his eyes radiating warmth.

"Might I join you for a moment, my boy?"

"Of course sir," Harry said. Dumbledore inclined his head in thanks, and strolled into the room. From behind a curtain, he pulled a comfy looking if ugly chair, that Harry was sure was not official Hospital Wing property, and reclined into it with satisfaction. However, when he focused his gaze on Harry once more, his expression was serious.

"Harry, I really must apologise for what happened to you last night. It was absolutely inexcusable, and the thought of what might have happened to you…" Dumbledore trailed off, for which Harry was intensely grateful. He really didn't need to be told what might have happened to him. He was having enough difficulty not thinking about it as it was.

"It's ok sir," Harry said. "I should have known there was something weird about that note. Anthony did, straight off."

"Why did you not listen to him?" Dumbledore asked, not critically, his tone one of curiosity. Harry flushed slightly.

"I…well, sir, you're not…"

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "Would I be right in saying that, although 'weird', the letter did not put you off because I am myself quite unusual?"

"…I guess…" Harry mumbled, trying not to meet Dumbledore's eyes. He looked up when the Wing began to ring with the Headmaster's hearty laughter.

"Hoist on my own petard, I believe the saying goes," Dumbledore said, smiling brightly. "Perhaps Voldemort's most brilliant scheme."

Uncomfortable with hearing the madman who had kidnapped him praised, even if only in jest, Harry shifted in his bed. "Is he – you know, is he gone, sir?"

"Gone?" Dumbledore paused for a moment, making a show of considering the question. "I rather doubt it, I am afraid. I do believe that he has been severely inconvenienced though."

"Good," Harry muttered.

"I am afraid, Harry, that I must prevail upon you to shine some light on proceedings last night," Dumbledore said apologetically. "I know you are still recovering from it, but the sooner I have the information the better."

So Harry relived his 'adventure', sparing no detail. Meeting Voldemort in the boathouse, losing his wand, the bubble ride down to the cave, his task…Dumbledore took it all in silently, not interrupting at any point. About halfway through Harry's tale, he started playing with his wand, tapping it aimlessly against his cheek. Although struck by the tic, Harry soon forgot about it, focused on making sure Dumbledore knew everything that had happened.

At no point though did he mention the Cloak. He knew that it had been in his robes when he had left the cave; he assumed it still was, and quite possibly still in the more compact form it appeared able to assume when necessary. In truth, there was no particular reason for not telling the Headmaster about the Cloak – if Harry could not trust Albus Dumbledore with the information, then who could he trust? – but something he was barely conscious of stopped him.

As Harry reached the end of his tale, Dumbledore nodded slowly, making a noise of approval and still tapping his wand against his cheek. "That is the entire sequence of events then, Harry? You can remember nothing else?"

"That's it, sir. Sir…" Harry hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he ought to be asking the question. "Voldemort mentioned the…Hallows, was it? What are the Hallows?"

"Ah, Harry, now that is a tale indeed!" Dumbledore said. "Before I tell it to you though, I just want you to refresh my memory on a few small details."

As he finished speaking, his wand moved again, and Harry suddenly felt incredibly fuzzy headed. He closed his mouth again, shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Then he frowned. "I…I'm sorry sir, last night's just a blur, really."

"Quite understandable, Harry," Dumbledore said, spreading his empty hands. "Do not trouble yourself, although if you do remember anything please let me know. Before your parents, if possible."

"Of course sir," Harry said, not quite understanding but willing to co-operate. Dumbledore beamed at him and stood up.

"Now, I am sure that you are still tired, yes?"

Harry began to deny this claim, but now he thought about it he was exhausted. His denial became a reluctant nod of the head, and Dumbledore chuckled.

"Hardly surprising. You did a man's job last night, Harry, and you should be so proud. I know that I am; your parents too."

Harry smiled awkwardly, ducking his head down. "Thank you, sir. I was just…well, I guess I don't really know what I was doing, but…you know."

"I do indeed," Dumbledore assured him. "Now, get some rest."

Harry sank back into the bed gratefully, his eyes closing almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. It wasn't long before he was snoring once more, leaving Dumbledore standing there, shrouded in thought.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

**A/N:** So, that's the end of the first section of _Hallowed_. Next up, a time skip to Harry's sixth year and the Triwizard Tournament. I'm quite excited.


	8. Five Years Later

**Chapter 8: Five Years Later  
><strong>

There was a crack, just audible over the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley at mid-day, and Harry, James and Lily Potter appeared just off to the side of the street. They attracted a few sideways glances, but the Alley was packed with shop-staff and Ministry employees grabbing their lunch, and the new arrivals were of little interest. The moment Harry had fully regained his equilibrium, the aftermath of Side-Along Apparition always slightly disorienting, he started to move into the crowd, but Lily's hand on his shoulder held him back.

"You'll be careful?"

"Mum, you know I will be," Harry replied with a fond roll of his eyes. "This isn't the first party I've been to."

"I know, but it's a big night. It'll be different."

Privately, Harry disagreed – it had been a while since his mother had attended a student party, after all – but he said nothing, settling for giving her one last hug. "Trust me, I'll be fine. I promise I'll Floo home if it gets too rowdy, ok?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" James was shaking his head vigorously, a look of intense disapproval on his face. "You're nearly sixteen, you've just got some fantastic O.W.L results…you should be crawling home tomorrow morning with your mouth tasting like a goblin's loin-cloth!"

There was a pause while Harry reviewed that mental image, and he shuddered slightly. "Thanks Dad; I think you've put me off alcohol for life…"

James sighed. "Will you at least _try _something other than Butterbeer? Live a little – hey, try and…what do they say now? 'Get off' with someone?"

"I'm not promising anything, but we'll see how the day goes, ok?" Harry shot back. James grinned at him, and ruffled his hair affectionately while Lily simply let out a long suffering sigh. With that, Harry took a step back, raising his arm in farewell. "I'll see you both tomorrow, ok?"

"Have a good time, Harry," Lily said. "We're so proud of you."

"I know," Harry said with a grin that revealed every bit of his current satisfaction. Then he turned away and began to walk through the Alley, leaving his parents behind. When he reached a curve in the road, he cast a quick look over his shoulder, but they had disappeared, either returned home or taking care of their own affairs. Looking ahead of himself once more, he placed his hands in his pockets and strolled onward, humming cheerily as he walked.

Although the Alley was packed, it did not take him long to reach his destination, Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour. When he did arrive though, he found that he was the first to arrive. A quick examination of the pocket watch his father had given him for his birthday the year before revealed that he was in fact a few minutes early, and so he headed straight up to the counter. When he sat down, he took with him a bowl laden with ice-cream and sauce, and he closed his eyes in bliss as he savoured a spoonful of toffee and pumpkin. It worked surprisingly well.

"Harry!"

He looked up, and waved as Anthony Goldstein made his way into the café. His friend headed straight for the table, throwing himself into the seat opposite Harry with a smile.

"So, how did you do?"

"Afternoon, Anthony," Harry said, ignoring his friend's question. "You alright?"

Anthony rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm fine, the weather's lovely, it's great to see you…how did you do?"

"I aced Transfiguration," Harry admitted with a grin. Anthony rolled his eyes, and waved his hand.

"Like that's a surprise. McGonagall will be begging you to carry on next year."

"Oh shut up," Harry said with an embarrassed shake of his head. "I just study hard, that's all…I got Outstanding in Charms, Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes, too. Acceptable in Astronomy and Arithmancy and Exceeds Expectations in everything else."

"Acceptables?" Anthony let out a low whistle. "Bloody hell, you mean there's stuff you aren't brilliant at?"

Harry flicked some of his ice-cream at him, scowling. "Of course. You've seen me on a broom, haven't you?"

"I dunno, I think you'd be alright if you put some effort into it," Anthony said as he dabbed the ice-cream off his robe. "Seriously though, congratulations. That should pretty much set you up for every course you wanted to carry on with, right?"

Harry grimaced slightly. "Come on, Anthony; I only got the results a few hours ago. I haven't given any thought to that yet. Have you?"

"Well, not yet," he admitted, "but I know what you're like. Anyway…I matched you in Charms, Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology. Other than that, I got Acceptable in History, and Exceeds Expectations everywhere else."

"Congratulations," Harry said, raising his hand to offer a high five. Anthony slapped his own hand to his, and grabbed one of the menus.

"Cheers – still don't understand how you got higher than A in History though."

"I actually read those books Hermione is always banging on about," Harry told him, taking another bite of his ice-cream.

"Huh, I'll take the lower grade, thanks," Anthony muttered. "What are you having?"

"Toffee and pumpkin, with a butterbeer sauce."

"Toffee and pumpkin? Sounds revolting."

"You'd be surprised," Harry said. "Want some?"

"I think I'll stick to the regular options…" Anthony replied, picking up the menu and looking through it. "Ooh, toffee and mint choc chip…"

"So who else is going tonight?"

"Half our year, I think," Anthony said, not looking up. "I know the Patils are going, and Ernie Macmillan. Probably Ron as well, he's good friends with Neville, right?"

"Yeah, he said he might meet us this afternoon actually," Harry said. "Hermione owled me the other day, she's finally persuaded her parents to let her go if she gets good grades."

"So she'll be there then," Anthony finished the thought. "Should be interesting, I've never seen her in party mode. Hey…you don't think Malfoy will be there, do you?"

"I wouldn't have thought so," Harry said, frowning. "He and Neville don't really like each other, and I think it's fair to say that Mr and Mrs Longbottom aren't exactly fans of the Malfoys either. Where did that come from?"

"I couldn't picture him in party mode, either," Anthony said, and Harry stifled a snort of laughter. It was true, the mental image of the haughty blond boy letting his hair down didn't quite work. "You can see it though, can't you?" Anthony continued, warming to his theme. "Standing by the drinks sneering down at us lowly mortals while the two trolls wait on him hand and foot. Merlin, can you imagine him dancing?"

"You've put a disturbing amount of thought into this," Harry said, letting the laughter out. A few of the older patrons looked at him disapprovingly as the peaceful lull of the afternoon was disturbed, but he ignored them.

"Hey, making fun of him comes easily after a while," Anthony said with a shrug.

"Making fun of who?"

"Hey, Ron," Harry said, looking up. "Sit down – and Malfoy, since you ask."

"Oh, cool," Ron replied, sitting down and shaking Anthony's hand. "Not that I mind, but why?"

"I was just saying I couldn't picture him at the party tonight," Anthony said, and Ron grinned.

"No, but you know what Nev's like with Herbology. Imagine all the stuff he must have lying around that you could spike Malfoy's drink with. Shame he won't be there really…"

Anthony let out a loud laugh, but Harry frowned. "You shouldn't joke about stuff like that, Ron. People get hurt."

"Oh give it a rest, I wouldn't actually do it," the red-head replied with a sigh. "Merlin, you need to relax, you're almost as bad as Granger. It's summer! And nothing to stress about for weeks!"

"She's going to be there tonight," Harry said, knowing it would annoy his friend. Sure enough, Ron buried his head in his hands with a groan.

"Bloody hell…if she starts telling me to watch how much I drink, I'll hex her I swear…I'm kidding, Harry, don't worry!"

"I know that," Harry replied. "I'm not an idiot. Speaking of, how did you do?"

"Not bad," Ron said, sitting up. "Outstanding in Divination and Care of Magical Creatures - "

"Outstanding in Divination?" Harry asked incredulously. "How the hell did you manage that?"

"I told you, it's a piece of piss. You either take it seriously, so you know the theory guff inside out, or you think it's a joke and you just bullshit your way through. Either way, you're pretty much guaranteed a good mark." Ron grinned. "Turns out I'm really, really good at bullshitting."

"Well we didn't need an exam to tell us that," Anthony said. Ron casually flipped a finger at him.

"Anyway. Mostly E's and A's, really – Dreadful in History though, Mum wasn't happy. Still got more than Fred and George though."

"Nice one," Harry said. He knew how much that would mean to his friend, and Ron did look happier than he had for months. His earlier comment about stress had been from the heart; even more pressure than was normal for fifth years had been laid on his shoulders after the twins dismal performance, and Ron had been dreading this day ever since the exams had finished, even if he would never admit it. "Come on, I'll buy you an ice-cream to celebrate."

"Cheers, mate, I'll have…" Ron tailed off as Harry stood up, really looking at him for the first time since he had arrived. "Harry, what in Merlin's name are you wearing?"

Harry looked down at his clothes. "It's a suit. Quite a nice one. Why?"

"Mate, you do realise we're going to a party, right? As in, fun? Casual?"

"Yes…haven't you ever heard of dress robes?"

"Well yeah, sure, for Ministry parties," Ron said, shaking his head. "Also, robes are always fine for a party. They're…well, they're robes. That's a suit. You look like you're back in school uniform! Anthony, back me up will you?"

"I'm staying out of this," he replied, holding up his hands. "I'll tell you this though, it's a losing battle."

"You'll see," Harry said as he dug some coins out of his pocket. "I'll be the snappiest dressed wizard there…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"So…how many people can you see wearing jeans?"

"Ron, can you do something for me?"

"What?"

"Piss off," Harry said, turning his head to smile pleasantly at his friend. Ron laughed, and took another swig from his bottle of butterbeer. He was right though, Harry had to admit. While he was hardly the only one dressed smartly, the majority of the guests had clearly shared the same thought process as Ron. As a concession, Harry had remove his tie and undone a few buttons on his shirt, although that made him feel a little self-conscious. _More _self-conscious. He sipped his own butterbeer more carefully than Ron, looking out over the sea of people.

The buzz of conversation and laughter hung heavy over the room, still audible over the music. At the moment, the Weird Sisters were blaring out from the walls, some sort of enchantment looping the record from the players and into the mortar in place of speakers.

Most of them were dancing, or at least swaying in time to the beat. There weren't quite as many people as he had thought there might be, but the Longbottom house was still packed, and that was much harder to do than it would appear from outside the house. The building was fairly unprepossessing, although pleasant enough, but once you got past the door you quickly realised that there was far more space than could realistically fit inside the four walls. Good oak floorboards were covered by thick rugs, and the rear wall of the dining room was hung with an old tapestry showing the Longbottom blood line.

It was similar to the one at Grimmauld Place – and naturally had many of the same names on – except in one crucial area. The Black family tree had never featured anyone by the name of Smith, or Brownlow, and if it had then anyone connected to them on the tapestry had been burnt away. Here though, there were dozens of clearly Muggle names, just as worthy of consideration as any wizard or witch. The golden threads that linked each name fairly shimmered with magic, even from across the crowded room, and a part of Harry was just itching to ignore the party and examine it; although he had been to the Hall several times before, he had never been allowed to get so close to it. His hesitation to follow through on his urges was only partly out of respect to the family, as a result. He knew that if Neville's parents had agreed to let a party be hosted in such proximity to their family tapestry, then there would be even more enchantments on it than normal, and Mr Longbottom was an Auror. Having a guest electrocuted, or stung a thousand times in the chest, would only ruin the atmosphere of the party.

"D'you wanna dance?"

Harry turned his head to find a girl he only vaguely recognised leaning into Ron, a bleary, happy smile on her face. Ron knocked back the rest of his drink, put the bottle on the table behind him, and then took her by the hand.

"I'd love to, Lavender!"

As they left, he looked over his shoulder at Harry. With a meaningful wink, he pointed at his jeans, then at Harry, and shook his head. Harry rolled his eyes, and walked away. Perhaps there were still a bit of that quiche left…

A few minutes later, munching on a piece of quiche and a glass of ice-wine in his hand, he made his way out onto the veranda. The music was quieter out here, and the conversation muted, private. The only other people outside seemed to largely be in pairs, too close together to simply be chatting. Hoping that he didn't look too out of place on his own out there, Harry perched himself on the stone rail separating the veranda from the expansive lawn. There was an unseasonal chill in the air, and he buttoned his jacket closed.

"You alright?" There was a soft click as the door opened and shut once more, and Neville Longbottom headed towards him, his hands in his pockets. Harry was slightly relieved to find that he at least was wearing a formal shirt. He sat down next to Harry, and took a silver cigarette case out of his pocket. "Want one?"

"Not for me," Harry said with a shake of his head. "You go for it though."

Neville did so, the cigarette lighting automatically as it touched his lips. He grinned as he blew the smoke he had inhaled out, the plumes changing colour under the starlight. "Enjoying the party?"

"Definitely," Harry said. "Food's excellent as always, and it's good to see everyone."

"Haven't seen you dancing yet," Neville replied with a sideways look. Harry grimaced in response.

"Yeah, well there's a reason for that. I haven't seen you dancing, for that matter."

"I'm only graceful on a broom!" he laughed. "Why do you think I always host the parties? It means I'm far too busy making sure everyone's enjoying themselves to get out there and make a fool of myself!"

"Cunning, I'll have to remember that."

"So," and Neville stretched, cracking his neck. "Ah, that's better…So, looking forward to next year? Can't wait, myself."

"Really?" Harry asked, faintly surprised. He liked Neville, and had a lot of respect for him, but he had never thought of him as being particularly studious. "Well, yes I suppose. Haven't quite decided on all my options yet, of course, although I'm definitely doing Transfiguration…"

"Never mind that," Neville said, waving his hand dismissively. "It's all action next year!"

Harry frowned. "How so?"

"You haven't forgotten, have you?" Neville asked, turning slightly to look at him properly. "Harry, it's Hogwarts' turn to host the Triwizard Tournament!"

"Oh! Yes, of course. Should be fun, yeah. Will you be entering?"

"Damn right I will be! I think I've got a pretty good chance…I know Cormac MacClaggen's going for it, but I haven't heard anyone else saying so."

"Ron probably will," Harry suggested. "And I think Terry might be interested."

"What about you?"

Harry laughed. "Not really my thing...although, what's the prize fund? A thousand galleons?"

"Tempting, isn't it?" Neville said with a flash of perfect teeth.

"It is," Harry admitted, "but I think you'd do a much better job of it than me."

"Cheers." Neville tilted an imaginary glass at him, and Harry raised his very real one in response. Neville slid to his feet, and beckoned to Harry. "Come on, let's go in, grab a bit of Dutch courage, and see if we can at least look deliberately stupid."

"Get a drink for me, I need the loo."

"You'd better come back, Harry!" Neville said as they parted ways. Harry gave him a thumbs up, and made his way out of the dining room into the hallway. The rest of the house continued the traditional oak theme that the dining room displayed, although the rugs covering the floorboards were more lavish here. Stitched depictions of old battles raged, bursting into life with each foot fall as he climbed the stairs, an occasional burst of thread appearing from nowhere as the woven wizards unleashed spells against each other. Harry walked carefully, not wanting to tread on any individual wizard.

On his return, the hallway was occupied, and not by any of his class-mates.

"_Protego horriblis…perpetuam manaro…_"

Neville's parents stood there, flicking their wands around with urgent expressions on their faces. As Harry watched, a little ball of light burst from the tip of Mr Longbottom's wand, disappearing into the walls of the house. The building seemed to quiver for a moment, although he doubted that anyone within the party itself would have noticed.

"Is everything alright?"

Both of them jumped, and Mr Longbottom whirled to face him. Harry took a step back; the older wizard's wand was levelled at him, steady as a rock. It was only then that they realised who they were facing, and they visibly relaxed.

"Harry, yes, of course," Mrs Longbottom said. She forced a smile. "How's the party going?"

"Pretty well, thanks," Harry replied uncertainly.

"Excellent. We saw your mother earlier, she told us you did rather well. Congratulations!"

"Thanks – are you both ok?"

They looked at each other for a moment, and then back at him. "Of course," Mr Longbottom said, in soothing tones. "Just updating the wards a little. Felt a little rusty when we got back, probably not used to so many people they don't really recognise."

"Ok…but it's midnight," Harry said.

"Well, you know what the Muggles say – the witching hour, isn't that right?"

"I suppose…"

"Why don't you head on back and enjoy the party, hmm? It sounds like they're all having fun." There was something off about Mrs Longbottom's expression. It wasn't quite fear, but Harry was acutely aware that they would rather he hadn't seen them.

"I'll let Neville know you're back," he said, walking down the stairs.

"No, no, it's quite alright. We'll just see him in the morning."

"Fair enough." He opened the door to the dining room, and looked back at them. "Good night."

"Good night, Harry dear," Mrs Longbottom said. As he shut the door behind him, he could hear them resume their casting. Troubled, he made a bee-line straight for Neville, who was distributing vivid punch amongst a group of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors gathered around him.

"Harry! Come and join the fun! Padma was just telling us about…?"

"Body shots," she replied, flashing a grin at Harry. "They're great fun."

"I'm sure," he said absently. "Nev, can I have a word?"

Neville rolled his eyes, and passed the punch ladle to a blonde girl. "Take care of this for me, will you? I'll be back in a moment. Now, what's wrong?"

Harry pulled him into a corner, and stood in front of him. "Your parents are back."

"So?" Neville said with a shrug. "They're a bit early, but everyone's behaving themselves…wait, no-one's taken over any of the bedrooms, have they?"

"Not that I know of," Harry said. "But they're updating the wards."

That got Neville's attention. He stood up straighter, his eyes clearing as the words penetrated the slight alcoholic fog. "What? Why are they doing that?"

"Damned if I know. Your dad said something about them being a bit rusty, something to do with the amount of people here tonight."

"Well, that's…I don't know, is that plausible?"

"Not something I know much about," Harry said with a shake of his head. "But I'd have thought if it was possible then they'd have reinforced them before anyone arrived tonight. They're not idiots."

"True…do you think it's something to do with – " Neville looked around, and then lowered his voice. "Something to do with the Order?"

"It could be. Merlin only knows what though."

"But it's been years since they had to do anything," Neville said, concern written all over his round, honest face. "Do you think something's happened?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Harry asked, frustration bleeding into his voice. "They didn't exactly say anything useful, you know. They're professionals."

Neville scratched his chin, looking around the crowd. "Do you think we should do something?"

"Nothing we can do, is there?" Harry said, turning to face the crowd himself. "We're underage, and if we tell anyone else we're just going to cause a panic. I just thought you ought to know, that's all."

"Thanks," Neville said, with feeling. Harry knew how he felt. It had been a long time since the Order had been under active orders, in fact not since his first year at Hogwarts, when Voldemort and Professor Dumbledore had clashed beneath the grounds. The dark wizard had fled, badly injured and vowing vengeance, but had not been seen since. As a result, the Order had gone into something of a decline. Nonetheless, Harry could still remember earlier years, listening to one or other – or sometimes both – of his parents leaving in the middle of the night in response to some crisis, and wondering whether they would return. Neville's parents had been in the same situation, and he knew that Neville was sharing his concerns right now.

He clapped him on the shoulders. "Come on. Like I said, there's not much we can do. And I think you were challenging me to a drinking contest, or something."

"Something like that, yes," Neville said with a flash of his usual good humour. "Come on – we've got some centaur mead that's just lovely…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning, Harry's Portkey deposited him on the lawn outside the Potter home in Godric's Hollow, and he lay there, looking up at the sky. Despite the concerns of the latter part of the evening, he had ended up getting rather drunker than he had intended. Sadly, hangovers and Portkeys were not meant to be mixed. After a minute or so, he eased himself upright, wincing at the pounding in his head. If he could just get inside, he could see if Sirius had left a curative behind the last time the Marauders had got together…

As the front door clicked thunderously shut, eliciting a wince, he became aware of voices from the rear of the house.

"You think he'll come here?" his father was saying. There was a similar note of fear in his voice to the Longbottom's the previous evening, and Harry edged down the hall, listening intently.

"It is possible," a familiar yet unexpected voice replied. "As I explained, he has a vested interest in you."

"And I can't believe you kept that quiet…" his father muttered.

"More of that later, perhaps…Harry?" Dumbledore called, raising his voice. Harry looked down at the floor. He knew that the floorboards didn't squeak here. He hadn't bumped into anything, and he tended to tread fairly softly anyway. How on earth had the Headmaster known he was there? Unless he made a habit of occasionally casting detection charms in the middle of a conversation, of course. He shook his head, and walked into the kitchen. Dumbledore was standing at the back of the room, framed against the window with his hands clasped behind his back. His parents were nearer the door, and his father had his arms folded. He did not look happy, although he pushed a smile to his lips when Harry walked in.

"Hey, kiddo. Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah, it was fun. Good morning, sir."

"Hello, my boy. I trust your summer is going well? And I understand congratulations are in order!"

"Thank you," Harry said quietly. His mother smiled, and stepped towards a cupboard, pulling out a potions vial. She passed it to him with a knowing look and he knocked it back gratefully. His head cleared immediately.

"Well, that seems an appropriate moment to take my leave," Dumbledore said. "James, Lily, a pleasure as always. And I will see you next term, Harry."

"Looking forward to it, sir."

James walked Dumbledore to the door, while Lily poured Harry a glass of pumpkin juice. "Have you eaten anything yet?" When he shook his head, she grinned. "I can do you some bacon?"

"Maybe later," he said with a grimace, and she laughed. After a moment, James walked back in, his expression still troubled. "So, what was that about?" Harry asked them.

"Nothing much," James said with a roll of his shoulders. "Just popped into say hello."

"Right. Neville's parents get back early and start adjusting their wards, the head of the Order is here this morning, and you were arguing about something when I arrived." Harry shook his head, taking another sip of the juice. "I'm not an idiot."

"We should tell him, James," Lily said softly. "He'll just worry about it otherwise."

"Well, he certainly will now," James muttered, and then he looked at Harry properly. "Emmeline Vance was killed last night."

"What? How? Why?"

"Voldemort," James said grimly. "We don't know why though. He broke into her house, and…there was no sign of a struggle. We don't think she even got a hex off."

Harry shivered, putting his glass down. He hadn't known Emmeline terribly well – from what he had picked up, she and his mother had not really liked each other – but he could picture her easily enough. She had been quite a stern woman, with small glasses and permanently pursed lips. It was hard to think of her as dead. "So Dumbledore thinks…what?"

"It's possible that Voldemort is targeting the Order," James admitted with a sigh. "And…" He hesitated, as if trying to decide what to say next. "Well, he's attacked here before. He's not exactly above a grudge."

For some reason, Harry thought that wasn't quite what his father had been going to say, but he didn't press the issue. "We'll be ok, won't we?"

"Of course we will!" Lily said, throwing her arms around him. "We've cast some new protections around the house, and Dumbledore put a few of his own enchantments down as well – we're practically a fortress, don't you worry."

Harry hugged her back, still a little wary. From what he remembered of Voldemort, which wasn't much, he didn't think a few wards would help all that much - he had broken into Hogwarts twice, and walked away from a duel with Dumbledore himself. Harry had actually seen that, although the shock of it all had rendered his memories fuzzy. He didn't particularly care to try and remember any more of that night though. He considered his forgetfulness a blessing.

"What were you and the Headmaster arguing about?"

"Nothing," James said shortly. "Nothing for you to worry about."

Nothing for him to worry about wasn't nothing, Harry thought to himself. It was obvious he wasn't going to get any further answers though. In truth, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "I should go unpack, I guess."

"We'll see you in a bit," Lily said. "I'm glad you had a good time."

As Harry set foot on the stairs, James called out to him. "Harry? The Cloak…make sure you keep it with you, hmm? No harm in being safe, is there?"

Harry looked at him, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. James' shoulders were slightly hunched, his hands in his back pockets and lines creasing his face. Harry nodded slowly. "Sure thing, dad."


	9. The Goblet of Fire

**Chapter 9: The Goblet of Fire**

The security on Platform 9 and ¾'s was heavier this year than it had ever been. As he pushed his luggage trolley through the barrier in the wall, he felt a spell wash over him, and his skin acquired a blue-ish hue. When he emerged on the other side, examining his fingers with interest, one of the guards stationed there recognised his curiosity.

"Nothing to worry about, lad. Just a precaution, making sure no-one slips through under any enchantments."

Harry nodded in understanding, moving aside to let his parents through. There had been several more attacks in the weeks since Emmeline Vance's murder. They had all been almost identical; signs of brutal struggle, and a hovering shape in the sky – a glowing green skull, with a snake slithering out from the jaws. The press had dubbed it the 'Dark Mark'. On the other hand, it did not seem that Voldemort had carried out the murders himself. Emmeline had been killed without managing to fire off even the most basic of defensive spells (her wand had been examined, and had last been used for the washing up. Harry doubted even Dumbledore could find any other use for such a low-grade charm). The other deaths had at least put up a fight, however ultimately futile.

And of course, each fresh victim had been another member of the Order of the Phoenix.

With every new report, from the press or from Dumbledore, his parents had become a little bit tenser. James had developed a twitchy wand hand, the slightest unexpected noise heralding an immediate motion to draw, usually but not always cut off in its prime. He had found his mother working a few subtle enchantments around the garden fence, under the pretext of weeding. And there had been far too many conversations abruptly cut off as he walked into the room.

He drummed his fingers on the bar of the trolley as his parents made their own way through the portal. It was a definite relief to be heading back to Hogwarts, much as he had enjoyed his holiday. Even with the start of N.E.W.T study, and the Triwizard Tournament getting in the way of everything, he was pretty sure life would be less stressful.

As his parents hurried over to him, a witch who had followed them through started berating the guards; it seemed the enchantment that had just washed over Harry had now removed several cosmetic charms she had painstakingly applied, and was enthusiastically letting them know just how angry she was. Harry grinned as he caught his mother's irritation with the woman. Her expression softened as she reached him though, and she reached out a hand to cup his face.

"You're sure you've got everything?"

Harry rolled his eyes, and cast his eye over his trolley. "Trunk, Dejah's cage, all my books and clothes…" he trailed off, and started patting his pockets. "Wait a moment, have you seen my wand?"

"What?" Lily exclaimed, her eyes widening, and then: "Oh, very funny," as Harry produced his wand with a flourish and a smile.

"Sorry, mum, it just had to be done. Yes, I've got everything. Dejah will be there when I arrive, but everything else is right here."

"Alright, I'll give the nagging a rest," Lily said, lifting her hands up in defeat. "You win."

"'Course he does, I taught him everything I know," James said with a wink at Harry, pulling Lily close in a one-armed hug.

"Which didn't take long, I imagine," she replied with a sweet smile.

"Ouch! Come on, son, let's get you stowed away before she really gets her claws out…" Together, they pushed the trolley over to the train, levering the trunk up and into a carriage. "You – ah, there we go – you given any more thought to the Tournament?" James asked as they swung the trunk onto a rack. Harry shook his head.

"Not really. I dunno, I'm not sure it's really me, you know? I'm not exactly an athlete…"

"You don't have to be," James said. "They're looking for the best wizard, not the fittest person in the school."

"I suppose," Harry replied, still not entirely convinced.

"Well, it's up to you. I just think you'd do a damn good job of it. You're going to be a hell of a wizard one day, Harry."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, slightly embarrassed. It messed his hair up, and he frowned as he tried to fix it – which for some reason seemed to amuse his father. He clapped Harry on the back, and turned to leave the carriage. "Come on, let's go say goodbye to your mother."

Harry followed behind, hopping down from the step and calling out in greeting to various fellow students as he walked back to Lily. As he drew nearer, he realised that she was engaged in animated conversation with Neville's parents; Mr Longbottom was stabbing the air in front of him with great vigour, while Lily was making calming motions. Then Mrs Longbottom caught sight of Harry over Lily's shoulder, and grabbed her husband's arm in warning. He immediately quieted, and Harry rolled his eyes in frustration.

"Good morning, Harry!" Mrs Longbottom said brightly as he arrived. "Looking forward to the new term?"

"Absolutely, yes," Harry replied, before giving his mother a hug. "We've got everything stowed away – want me to leave you to talk in peace?"

"Sorry, darling," Lily replied, kissing his forehead. "I'll owl you, alright?"

"I know. Take care, and I'll see you at Christmas."

As he made his way back to the Express, he could hear Mrs Longbottom exclaiming incredulously, "He knows?" He sniggered to himself as Lily replied in the affirmative, in a tone of voice that suggested it would be ridiculous for him not to know.

When he got back to his claimed carriage, Ron and Neville had taken up position by the window, discussing the latest Quidditch results. Harry took a seat next to them, pulling a notebook and biro out of his pocket. He didn't really like the cheap plastic instrument, but he had to admit that quills and ink pots weren't entirely practical for a rattling train journey. He busied himself making notes.

The train had left the station by the time someone else looked around the door of the carriage. Harry looked up, and beamed in pleasure as Hermione closed the door behind her.

"Hey, how are you?"

"I'm fine thank you, Harry. I had a great summer, my parents took me to France again as a reward for my results! How was yours?"

"Not quite as exciting as yours," he said with a smile, shifting up slightly so she could sit down. Neville and Ron greeted her pleasantly but without real warmth, and she returned the sentiments. Then she looked back at Harry, turning her head so fast that her mass of hair lagged slightly behind.

"So…any success?"

Harry cracked a grin as he reached for his satchel. "Funny you should ask…" He scrabbled around in the bag for a moment, and withdrew his hand holding a sheet of paper covered in ink. "I haven't had a chance to practice it yet, obviously – underage sorcery, blah blah blah – but I think I've hit on something."

"Well come on then, I want to see!"

By now, Ron and Neville had abandoned their conversation, watching proceedings with interest. Suddenly slightly flustered by the attention, Harry looked down, producing his wand and resting it on the seat in front of him. He rubbed his hands, then held them out, focusing his attention on the wand. Beside him, Hermione was watching the show, equally rapt. Harry cleared his throat, and then said in solemn tones:

"_Convoque Batons!_"

The length of walnut maybe, _maybe_ quivered at his words. Harry frowned. He had been sure that would work. By the window, Ron let out a snort.

"Wandless magic? Really?"

"Ah, that's the beauty of it," Harry said, grateful for the distraction. "Put your wand on the table there."

Ron shot Neville a dubious glance, but complied.

"And now cast the Lighting Charm."

"But my wand's there…" Ron said. "It won't work."

"Just do what the man says, will you?" Hermione said with exasperation dripping from her voice. Ron scowled at her, but held his hand out and spoke the incantation. Bright light exploded from the tip, and he jerked back in surprise.

"What the hell? How did…what the hell?"

"It's tricky to do," Harry admitted, "and it only works with certain spells, from what I hear. It's not really wandless magic, because you're still using the wand. You're just not holding it. It's all about the wand choosing the wizard, really – you can't do it with just any wand."

"That's pretty bloody cool," Ron said, staring at his glowing wand. "_Nox_!" The light went out, and he grinned again. "_Lumos!_"

"You'll never lose your wand again, Ron," Neville joked, but the redhead ignored him. "What was that spell you were trying though? I didn't recognise it, and was that French?"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding his head. "I've been trying to develop a spell that will call your wand to your hand – like if Ron's lost it again."

"I don't lose it that often!" Ron snapped, finally looking away from the table. "I just…get a little absentminded from time to time."

"In Ron's defence, I'm pretty sure that it's the twins hiding it half the time," Hermione butted in. Ron stared at her, and then buried his head in his hands, muttering something about it being obvious now he thought about it.

"Anyway," Harry continued, repressing a slight twinge of annoyance, "I really thought it was going to work…I tried it in Latin for most of last term, but it wouldn't click. I figured another language might be a good idea."

"You might just need to practice it," Hermione said. She clasped his shoulder, smiling reassuringly. "It's hard enough to just pick up a spell from a textbook, never mind one you're building from scratch."

"I know," Harry assured her. "What about you, any luck?"

She shook her head, looking dejected. "Well, I don't think so. I couldn't try it out, of course, but…I don't know, the incantation just doesn't sound right, somehow."

"I know what you mean," Harry replied. It was one of the reasons he had switched languages for his own spell. Despite pretty much every spell he knew having a Latin incantation, or something like it at least, he had tried and failed over the course of several months to find an incantation that would work. Ironically, he had chosen the project for his first spell because, as a quasi-wandless spell, there would be no incantation to develop. Theoretically, that would make it easier. So far, the theory had not stood up to the practice. He looked back at his wand, still lying on the seat, and stretched his wand arm out again.

"_Convoque Batons!_"_  
><em>

He felt a little surge of excitement as the wand abruptly rolled forward a few inches, before coming to a stop.

"There you go!" Hermione exclaimed. "I told you it would work!"

"It might just have been the train moving," Harry said, but he did not think his words masked his true feelings. It would have been a massive coincidence if it was just the train. And if he had done it…smiling to himself, he made a little notation on the parchment: _Success?_

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Anthony!"

Harry's fellow Ravenclaw looked over his shoulder, raising a hand in greeting. Harry quickened his pace to catch up with him. "Where were you on the train?"

Anthony rolled his eyes. "Got held up saying goodbye to my mother, you know what she's like. I just grabbed a seat in the nearest carriage, ended up talking to Luna and Padma for most of the trip."

"Really?" Harry paused to imagine that scenario. While he liked both girls, it was a bit of a chalk and cheese combination. Luna was…well, she was Luna. It was the only real way to describe her. Padma on the other hand was the model Ravenclaw; studious, quiet, and practical. She did not suffer fools gladly, with the arguable exception of her sister, and she usually went out of her way to avoid Luna. "Bet that was fun."

"You don't know the half of it, mate," Anthony said with feeling. "Did I miss anything?"

"I practiced my spell for the first time since last term."

"Yeah? How did it go?"

"Not bad," Harry allowed. "The French does seem to work a little better, but it's not perfect. Could just be a matter of practice though."

"Here's hoping."

They turned a corner, catching up with the rest of the crowd of students heading towards the Atrium. It was a change in the routine; normally, everyone bar the first year students headed straight to the Great Hall for the Welcome Feast and the Sorting, but on this occasion they had all been instructed to head down to the quad. As they mingled with the crowd, Harry checked his watch. The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students would be arriving very shortly.

The staff were already outside, the four heads of houses herding their respective students into neat groups – or as neat as could be managed. Professors McGonagall and Slughorn were having most luck, in her case due to being one of the scariest people in the school, and in his because most of the Slytherins would rather die than give a bad impression of the school in front of outsiders. As they headed over to where Flitwick was waving his arms for order, Slughorn caught Harry's eyes, and gave him a nod of acknowledgement. Harry raised his hand in reply, smiling slightly. Beside him, Anthony snorted.

"I suppose you'll be back at the Club again this year?"

"Sure," Harry said with a shrug. "They're good fun. Great food, for one thing."

"Yeah, but Slughorn…"

"Oh, he's alright. Just a bit…self-absorbed."

Just beyond the entrance to the quad stood the main body of the staff, all standing in a row. Slightly in front of them stood Dumbledore. If the old wizard was at all concerned about the allies – the _friends_ – that he had lost over the last few weeks, he did not show it. He stood there, the absolute picture of serenity, his hands clasped behind his back. The wind was whipping his beard around his face, but a smile could still be seen.

The student body eventually settled down into quiet conversation, but it was nearly twenty minutes later when the first signs of activity began.

It was a long way down to the lake, especially in the rapidly approaching twilight. Nevertheless, the water was still visible, and where it was usually calm, the surface was rippling. Harry frowned, craning his neck to see what was happening. It could have been the squid, of course, but it didn't normally mess around like that. More people were beginning to look towards the lake now, a low murmur of conversation running through the crowd. It looked like something was starting to break through the surface – it looked like a spike of some sort.

Then the waters exploded.

Spray shot high into the air under the force of the explosion, and the assembled students stepped back in shock. Before it could go too far though, the dispelled water slowed, coming to halt in the air above the lake. Within seconds, a shimmering dome had been formed, the water still on the surface churning itself into a whirlpool. From the midst of it, a boat began to emerge, a full blown old galleon. Tattered sails hung from the masts, and Harry could hear the waterlogged timbers creaking even from the quad. When it had fully emerged, a flag was let out from the top of the mast, with the Durmstrang crest patterned on it.

"How the hell…" Anthony trailed off, speechless at the sight. As they watched, the dome collapsed, the water splashing over the deck and back into the lake. The ship turned ponderously toward the boathouse, and began to move. Harry shook his head.

"God knows. I mean, Durmstrang's in Bulgaria, isn't it? So it's come all that way…it can't have made the whole journey underwater. Some sort of Portkey attached to it? That would explain the explosion, it'd be like air being displaced when you Apparate. You'd need some heavy duty shield charms though."

"Sod that, how are they going to get it in the boathouse?" Anthony said. "It's bloody big."

"Shrinking charms, I guess. Or maybe expand the boathouse, that would be easier."

"It's magic," Anthony replied with a wry grin. "Magic is relative."

Harry laughed. As they watched, the galleon reached the boathouse. Something _shifted_ – whether on the boat itself or on the dock, Harry could not tell – but the galleon drifted into the boathouse. A few minutes later, small figures appeared on the stairway, processing upwards towards the castle. They were shrouded in dark cloaks almost entirely, looking like nothing more than pale blobs atop shadow at this distance. A taller figure strode ahead of them. When he reached the top, he made a beeline for the staff, still waiting patiently for the new arrivals. The leader marched to Dumbledore, and shook his hand firmly.

"That the Headmaster, you think?" Anthony whispered. Harry nodded, studying the man. He had small, dark eyes, and a long trim beard. Aside from the colour, it was remarkably similar to Dumbledore's, and Harry grinned as he wondered whether it was a requirement for Headmastership in all schools of magic. The wizard's students gathered behind him, watching their English counterparts with careful expressions. For a while, the only sounds were the wind and the low rustle of conversation between Dumbledore and the Durmstrang headmaster.

Then, high above, there came the sound of horses braying.

As one, the gathered students – from both schools – tilted their heads back. It was hard to make out in the darkening sky, but…Harry shielded his eyes, squinting in confusion. Beside him, Anthony frowned. "Are those Abraxan?"

"I think so."

The horses were circling the castle in ever expanding arcs, gradually drawing closer to the ground. There were twelve of them, divided between two carriages that looked in no way aero-dynamic. They were either the most turbulent ride Harry could imagine, or someone had performed some extensive enchantment on the carriages.

On their final arc, the Abraxan wheeled out over the quad. Hooves sparked against the slate tiles on the roof, scattering looser ones to the ground and prompting hastily cast Shield charms. The carriages bucked slightly at the impact, dropping dangerously close to the taller students, but then they rose again. They landed in the stone circle just across the bridge; not gracefully by any stretch of the imagination, but there was a decisiveness to it, as if the beasts were declaring their intention to stay. The vast groundskeeper, Hagrid, hurried forward to unhitch the Abraxan. As he did so, the door of the first carriage opened.

"Want to bet the head's got a beard?" Harry whispered to Anthony. His friend nodded. The first person out of the carriage was enormous. Tall and bulky, without being fat, the woman towered over even Hagrid, although that was helped by a perilously tall pair of shoes. Unsurprisingly, she did not have a beard. Harry sighed, while Anthony held out his hand meaningfully. The headmistress strode towards the bridge, ignoring Hagrid (who was standing there almost goggle-eyed). Her heels clacked against the wooden floor, indicating speed and a long stride, and soon enough she had reached Dumbledore. Somewhat to Harry's surprise, the woman immediately bent at the waist to embrace the older wizard, kissing both his cheeks with a loud noise. When he dragged his eyes away from them, he realised that the woman's students had followed; a dozen or so boys and girls, all dressed in blue of differing shades.

The headmistress stepped away from Dumbledore, and he turned on the spot, casting his eye over the three schools. Then, he raised his arms above his head in welcome, and his eyes blazed with good cheer.

"Welcome, Durmstrang! Welcome, Beauxbatons! Welcome to Hogwarts, and to the Triwizard Tournament!"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"That's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," Harry whispered, in awestruck tones.

"It's nothing like I thought it was going to be. Bit plain, if you ask me," Ron replied.

Harry shot him a disapproving look. "Can't you see it? Seriously, the magic in it…"

"It's still just a wooden cup," the redhead said with a shrug. Beside him, Hermione shook her head. Harry started to reply, but then closed his mouth, thinking better of it. Instead, he pulled out the notebook that he had been using on the train, still in his pocket along with the biro. Ron eyed the plastic pen mistrustfully, but said nothing. They had spent two classes on pens in Muggle Studies a few years ago, but Ron still seemed unable to completely grasp the concept. Ignoring his friend, Harry made his way to the front of the Hall, shoving his way through the crowd, and began copying down the runes etched into the wood as best he could. The protections around the Goblet prevented him getting any closer – unless he decided that entering the Tournament was a good idea, of course.

Dumbledore had taken them through the procedure at the Feast, although Harry, being the voracious bookworm that he was (and of course, friend of Hermione Jane Granger), was already well aware of the nature of the Tournament. Three Champions, with one from each school. Three tasks, followed by the final, all in aid of attaining the Triwizard Cup, and a healthy portion of fame, glory, and a sack of gold. All tempting prospects, but Harry still didn't feel quite up to the task. He knew something of the Tournament, and of the dangers. In the inaugural Task of the first revived Tournament, the contestants had had to steal an egg from a dragon's nest – with the dragon resting comfortably atop it. The catalogue of injuries in the aftermath had been extensive, albeit relatively minor by magical standards. He shuddered to think what competitors might be asked to do this time.

"Out of the way, Potter," an all too familiar voice rang out. Harry rolled his eyes, and pointedly carried on copying the last couple of runes he could see. He slowly replaced the cap on the pen, tucked the notebook away, and only then did he turn around, a pleasant smile on his face.

"Draco, can I do something for you?"

"What could you possibly do for me, Potter?" Draco pushed past him with a sneer, and stepped over the line around the Goblet with a flourish. Pausing for effect, he held his hand over the rim of the Goblet, and dropped something in. For a moment, the blue flames that blazed within the Goblet burned a violent red. Draco turned back to Harry, a satisfied smile on his face. "Well, I hope you've already entered your name, Potter. First come, first served is your only hope of being Champion now."

Harry shook his head, stifling a grin, and walked back to where Anthony was still waiting for him. Hermione and Ron were nowhere to be seen, presumably returning to their own common room. The other Ravenclaw was watching Malfoy with barely concealed disdain.

"Smug little shit. He thinks he's holding that Cup already, doesn't he?"

Harry shrugged. "The Ministry does play a factor. Maybe his dad's already bought it for him?"

"Wouldn't be surprised. You ready?"

"Yeah, come on." Harry led the way from the Hall. The corridors were mostly deserted now, despite the lifted curfew for the night, with most of the students either still in the Hall or already in their dorms. "Those runes look fascinating – I don't even know what half of them mean! I'll have to run them past Professor Babbling this week…"

"Why?" Anthony asked.

"If I know what the runes mean, then I could duplicate the magic! I think," Harry finished with a note of uncertainty. "It looks pretty complex, but the theory…"

"Ok…but why would you want to do that? Doesn't seem like there's much use for a magic Goblet that can pick a name out."

Harry started to reply, but then paused, slightly non-plussed. "Well, I suppose when you put it like that, then you're right. But there must be something else you could use it for."

"If you say so," his friend replied. He did not sound convinced.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

**A/N:** I know the French isn't quite right; Harry's still working on the spell.


	10. Stepping Up

**Chapter 10: Stepping Up**

Harry repressed a curse as smoke began to billow from his cauldron. There were times that he really hated Potions. It wasn't that he was bad at brewing, but when he did make a mistake, they tended to be spectacular. The worst thing was that he simply didn't understand where he had gone wrong. How could you mess up something when you had a step by step process to follow? He looked over to the other side of the room to where Hermione was sitting. He was only slightly gratified to see that she was going red in the face from the effort of concentration; her potion seemed to be simmering nicely though.

"Oh dear, Harry, oh dear." Professor Slughorn had reached his desk, his usual glacial amble around the dungeon coming to a halt. He stroked his moustache thoughtfully as he leant over the cauldron. "Perhaps a touch more sopophorous juice might have helped?"

"I got all I could, Professor!" Harry protested, showing him the sliced beans as proof. It had taken him nearly ten minutes to get them cut up properly. Slughorn patted his shoulder in commiserating fashion.

"Not to worry, my boy, not to worry. I think it will still be a very respectable effort."

With that, the corpulent wizard strolled off, passing much less favourable judgement on Blaise Zabini's concoction. Harry watched him go for a moment, then looked back at his potion. With a sigh, he began to stir once more, wafting the smoke away with a casual wave of his wand. Slughorn hadn't just been trying to cheer up one of his favourite students, he supposed; the Draught was closer to purple than lilac than he would have liked, but he ought to be able to get at least a passing grade. The prize was probably out of his grasp though, and he flashed a longing look at the vial which still stood tantalisingly on Slughorn's desk. The Felix Felicis shimmered golden even in the dim light of the dungeon, and he couldn't help but entertain a few thoughts about what might constitute a perfect day.

He would be able to perfect his Wand Summoning Charm, that was certain.

By the end of the class, Harry had managed to rescue his potion sufficiently that Slughorn smiled appreciatively when he examined it. The leaf went in, and curled up around the edges.

"Very good, Harry, very good indeed. I told you that you could do it, didn't I?"

Harry smiled to himself as Slughorn moved away, faintly embarrassed by the praise. The Potions master bestowed approval on Hermione's potion – the leaf starting to smoulder – and then moved on to Malfoy. The blond boy was looking even more smug than he usually did, and apparently justifiably; when Slughorn dropped a leaf into his student's potion, it burnt up in the blink of an eye.

"Excellent, Draco!" Slughorn cried in delight. "A truly splendid effort! And a worthy winner to boot – I have no hesitation in announcing you today's winner, and the lucky recipient of one vial of Felix Felicis!"

Draco preened under the polite applause that followed Slughorn's statement, practically snatching the vial from his Head of House and placing it in his bag with a lascivious expression. Harry could not help feeling disappointed. He had known that it was a slim hope of him winning the vial, but to see Draco Malfoy walking away with the perfect day…

He gathered his things together, decanting the potion into a vial for official marking and taking it to the front. Slughorn smiled at him.

"I'm hosting one of my little soirees at the weekend, Harry, you'll be there of course?"

"I'd be delighted, sir," Harry replied, more or less honestly. Slughorn hummed pleasantly.

"Excellent. I'm going to be inviting the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang contingents as well – introduce them to the cream of the crop, so to speak. Maybe some competition for the Tournament, as well! Speaking of which," and as he spoke, Slughorn took on a more serious air. "Have you given any thought to entering?"

Harry blinked in surprise. It was one thing for his father to suggest it, but Slughorn? "I…well, my dad talked about it with me. I'm not sure that I'm quite right for it though."

"Well, you know yourself best I suppose, but I think you do yourself a disservice," Slughorn told him. His moustache quivered slightly.

"I'm not really the Champion type. And I don't really need the money."

"Ah, but think of the future, my boy! You have excellent grades, yes, and you're very skilled." He paused, leaning over the desk to emphasis his point. "Those will stand you in excellent stead when you set out into the wider world, and you can of course rely on an excellent recommendation from me, my boy. But if you could say that you were Champion…"

There was a moment of silence as Harry absorbed that. He hadn't really thought about it in those terms. Whenever the Tournament was discussed, it was all about the excitement, the danger, the glory, the gold – but Slughorn was right. A Triwizard Champion was in theory one of the best wizards of their generation. He could walk into any position he wanted, potentially. An apprenticeship of his choice, a Ministry position…

"When you put it like that," Harry said slowly, "it sounds a little more appealing, I'll admit."

"Well, I don't want to pressure you, of course," Slughorn said, picking up his briefcase and walking towards the door. Harry followed in his wake. "Just remember to think of the bigger picture."

"I will, sir. Thank you."

"See you at the weekend, my boy! Miss Granger, you'll be there as well, I assume?"

Hermione, who was leaning against the corridor wall with a Transfiguration book in her hand, looked up, clearly having been lost in her own little world. "Oh! Erm, yes, Professor. Of course."

"Excellent!" With that, the professor waddled off. Harry watched him go in silence, shaking his head. As Slughorn turned the corner, he looked at Hermione.

"I swear, I've no idea how he keeps his stomach above his belt. Permanent levitation, you think?"

"Honestly, Harry, you're as bad as Ron sometimes…"

The two friends set off in silence, Harry still mulling over Slughorn's advice.

"Are you going to go to the party then?" Hermione asked, breaking his concentration. He paused for a moment before replying, tuning back into a conversational mindset, then shrugged.

"Probably, yeah. Should be good. You?"

"I've got to. Ginny got an invitation, I said I'd go with her."

"Really?" Harry asked, his brow creasing. "How did she manage that?"

"She hexed Pansy Parkinson on the Express," Hermione explained, her tone dripping disapproval. "Slughorn saw, and apparently congratulated her rather than issuing detention!"

"Yeah, well he doesn't really give a stuff what you do so long as you're doing it well and not hurting anyone," Harry replied with a chuckle. "What hex was it?"

"Her favourite," Hermione replied with a slight air of frustration. "It's as if she doesn't know anything else!"

Harry walked for a moment in silence, relishing the image of Parkinson spewing tiny little bats out of her nose. He imagined that the stuck up girl would have been extremely embarrassed by it.

"Oh, would you stop grinning about it," Hermione snapped. "It's not funny!"

"It kind of is."

"She was lucky not to get detention, she really was. Any other teacher…"

"I can't imagine Parkinson was terribly happy about the invitation," Harry said. At that, Hermione finally smiled.

"Not at all, no. She's been trying to get into the Club for years."

"My heart bleeds for her." They had reached the entrance hall, and they merged with the crowd of students heading for lunch in the Great Hall. Beams of sunlight cascaded down through the enchanted ceiling and windows, creating little spotlights over the tables. As they sat down at a convenient spot, the ceiling shimmered, rippling to reflect changes outside the castle – in this instance, two of the Beauxbatons horses whirling in and out of the sparse clouds. He watched them for a moment, while Hermione examined a plate of beef sandwiches with interest.

"What do you think they're like to ride?" he asked, still watching them. Hermione followed his gaze, then looked away with a shrug.

"I shudder to think, to be quite honest. I'm sure it's perfectly horrible."

"You would say that," Harry said, finally looking away to reach across the table for a slice of pork pie. A few sandwiches and a substantial sausage roll soon joined it on his plate; a typically light lunch at Hogwarts.

"If you knew that, then why did you ask?" Hermione pointed out, not unreasonably. They ate in silence for a moment, recuperating from the day's work. "Ron was going on about putting his name in for the Tournament last night."

"Has he done it?" Harry asked with interest. Hermione shook her head.

"Not as far as I know. I'm not sure he will, to be honest; he'd be terrified of his brothers finding out."

"I'd have thought they'd be pleased he was trying?"

"And if he tried and failed? Fred and George would never let him forget it."

"I suppose…shame really."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "A shame? I don't want to see him in the Tournament!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's dangerous! Remember what happened last year?"

Harry winced at the reminder. The previous year's Tournament had taken place at Durmstrang, but although he had not been there to see it, everyone in the school knew what had happened. Anton Sullivan, the Hogwarts champion, had ended up in a fight with a wraith and come out on bottom. His injuries hadn't been life threatening, but they had effectively put him out of the running. Even when he had returned, several months later and empty handed, he had used a cane to walk.

It was thoughts like that, more than anything else, that made him doubt the wisdom of entering.

"I'm sure they've taken precautions this year…" he said, not voicing his thoughts for the moment. Hermione did not look convinced.

"They can only do so much. I really hope nobody I know gets chosen."

Harry looked down, giving his lunch far more attention than it strictly required. He hoped that he was the picture of nonchalance, but something about his manner obviously telegraphed what he was thinking across to his friend.

"Harry…"

"Yes?"

"You're not thinking of entering, are you?" She had a worried, almost pleading expression on her face. Harry shook his head.

"I doubt it. Slughorn was talking to me about it, and I think my dad would like it. Not really me though."

"Of course it isn't, you're far too sensible," Hermione replied, her expression lightening with relief. "Honestly, the whole thing is crazy."

As his friend went back to her food, Harry couldn't help but feel a little put out. Self-deprecation was one thing, but for one of his best friends to all but flat out state that they thought he wasn't Champion material…scowling slightly to himself, he busied himself with his own meal. He was being ridiculous.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx XxXxXxX

Oddly, Harry found himself the subject of a certain amount of scrutiny over the next couple of days. The Triwizard Tournament and potential competitors were the main topic of discussion, and by extension the various students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. However, since they largely kept themselves to themselves, with the exception of meal times (although they were hardly chatty even then), very little was really known about them. It seemed to most people that the best source of information would be the Slug Club's first meeting. Harry, as one of the more long-term members, was swiftly decided to be the one most likely to sniff out any juicy gossip, although it was notable that very few people who actually had more than a passing acquaintance with him believed this.

It left Harry feeling somewhat uncomfortable. He wasn't used to being the centre of attention, in fact hadn't been since the end of his first year, when he had acquired some temporary interest over what precisely had occurred beneath the boat-house. The interest had quickly faded, however, once it became apparent that he had been too scared to really remember anything.

And so it came to pass that he found himself having his first conversation with Parvati Patil since second year, when they had been paired on a Charms project.

"He's about your height, brilliant blue eyes, and there's a little scar on his cheek – could you get me his name?"

"Well, I – "

Parvati pouted prettily, an expression that suited her rather well. Harry floundered for an appropriate response, but eventually settled for weakly asking her, "Why do you need me to do it? Hermione will be going, and she's in Gryffindor, you'll see her first…"

She tossed her hair back, sniffing disparagingly. "Hermione doesn't pay any attention to _boys_, Harry. Besides, you're far more reliable. I can tell." She put her hand on his upper arm, still smiling at him. Once again, Harry found himself not knowing quite what to say.

"I…yeah, sure. Why not?" he finally replied, giving up. Parvati actually squeaked, beamed at him and then strolled away. Harry watched her go, very confused. Then he set off, having been waylaid on his way back to the common room. Slughorn's party was actually starting in a couple of hours, and the Potions master liked his guests to be well presented.

An hour or so later, he was putting the finishing touches to his cravat, an item of clothing he particularly disliked but which was always appreciated, and discussing the encounter with Anthony.

"I mean, how I am reliable when getting boy's names is concerned?" Harry said, his frustration seeping into his voice. Anthony, sitting on the bed opposite him, sniggered quietly.

"I'd be a little insulted by that if I were you," he said. "Casting aspersions on your masculinity like that…"

"Eh?" Harry replied, snagging a loop of the cravat in his teeth to hold it in place.

"Well, she obviously thinks you'd do a good job at chatting this guy up. Or hey!" Anthony smirked. "Maybe _she _was chatting _you_ up!"

"Pretty roundabout way of doing it, don't you think? And why would she be chatting _me_ up?"

"I'm just positing a theory."

"Your theory is flawed."

"You're flawed."

Harry paused mid-response, staring at his friend. "That's…not a good come back. You do know that, right?"

"Eh." Anthony waved a hand dismissively. "Get to your party. I'll see you later."

Shaking his head, Harry left the dorm. There were quite a few of his fellow Ravenclaws heading to the party; while Slughorn was notoriously interested cultivating students who had (or could potentially gain) useful contacts for him, he was a firm admirer of simple magical talent – his argument being that only truly talented wizards or witches would progress to useful positions. Cho Chang was walking out of the door, hand in hand with her new boyfriend, Roger Davies. She was wearing quite a tight, Muggle style dress, and Harry found himself almost subconsciously slowing his pace, the better to admire the view. As soon as he realised what he was doing, his cheeks started to burn, and he quickened his pace, overtaking them with a slightly guilty smile.

The party was, as ever, down in the dungeons. Since the majority of the rooms down there were both spacious and abandoned – despite repeated requests from Argus Filch to Dumbledore – they were the perfect location for the cosy gatherings that Slughorn favoured, the better to ingratiate himself with each and every guest.

On this occasion, when Harry arrived, it quickly became apparent that Slughorn had decided that the dungeons were not going to be big enough. The walls stretched on as far as the eye could see, the tell-tale haziness of expansion charms hovering over them. The room was ringed with tables bending under the weight of the buffet plates, pleasant aromas wafting from every corner. As he looked around, a pixie fluttered past, supporting a tray of champagne flutes precariously above its head. Harry snatched one, and the pixie chittered gratefully as its burden lessened.

The Durmstrang students were immediately obvious; they clearly felt that a Scottish autumn necessitated their thickest fur-lined cloaks, and Harry had not seen any of them without the garment since they had arrived at the school a week previously. Most of those present were wizards, their stern bearing apparently highly attractive judging by the crowd of witches standing near them. A few of the wizards were making overtures at conversation, but clearly didn't speak much English, faltering over certain words and not bothering with others at all. The witches seemed to find this highly amusing, but were making no attempt to rectify the issue. Harry rolled his eyes at the display, and drew his wand, sticking the tip just inside his ear. A few muttered words, and there was a faint ringing sound for a few seconds. He withdrew the wand, then held it to his lips, casting the spell once more. This time, the spell manifested as a salty tang on the tip of his tongue. The charm wasn't perfect, and would need regular refreshing, but in theory he ought now to be able to understand most of what was being said to him, whether it was said in French, Bulgarian, Greek or Troll.

Well, maybe not Troll.

He strolled across the room to the buffet, his ears now buzzing with conversation in various different languages. There was a whole salmon on the table, still steaming, and he helped himself to a generous slice. There was, naturally, a large crowd of guests around the table, from each different school, and Harry did his best to be sociable whilst still getting as much food as he could – Slughorn always catered lavishly, but the food did disappear quickly. The hippogriff steaks were particularly sought after, although Harry always felt slightly uneasy eating them.

"Are you really eating that?"

Harry turned to find Hermione looking at him, her face creased with distaste, and Ginny standing next to her. The younger Gryffindor was looking around the room, wide-eyed with wonder. He mumbled a greeting around the food, and Ginny giggled. Hermione tutted.

"Honestly…"

"Sorry," Harry said, swallowing hastily. "Want some?"

"No I do not! It's disgusting!"

"Can I try a bit?" Ginny asked tentatively, annoying Hermione's irritated glare. Harry grinned, and offered the plate to her. She took a bite of the steak, and promptly grimaced.

"Not a fan?"

"It's so…

"Morally repellent?" Hermione suggested.

"I was going to say smoky, actually," Ginny snapped back.

"It's an acquired taste," Harry agreed. "The salmon's lovely though."

"Oh, is there still some left?" Hermione said, instantly perking up. "Excuse me…"

She left the two of them alone, Ginny still frowning slightly at the aftertaste. Harry plucked another glass of champagne from a passing pixie, and offered it to her. She took it with a grateful smile.

"Thanks. I've never had hippogriff before. We can't – well, you know."

"It's not like we have it every week," Harry said with a slight laugh. "Also, my mum thinks more like Hermione."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Merlin, I love her to bits but she's been wittering at me all afternoon about this party. 'Don't drink this, don't eat that, don't dress like that and don't talk to _them_…' Honestly, she's driving me crazy. It's just a buffet!"

"Yeah, but how often do you mingle over champagne with Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked, tilting his head towards the other side of the room. Ginny followed his gaze, and sighed when she spotted Malfoy standing there, lording over a group of admirers. Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he realised he was being scrutinized, and he looked away pointedly. Ginny laughed.

"God, he's so pompous, isn't he?"

"In the blood, yes."

Hermione suddenly reappeared, clutching a plate laden with food. She flushed at Harry and Ginny's stares.

"Hermione…please don't take this the wrong way, but I think you've been spending too much time around my brother."

Hermione scowled. "It saves me having to go back up later. Trust me, it's sensible."

"Well, who am I to ignore such good advice?" Ginny teased. She placed her champagne glass, now empty, on a nearby table and wandered off. Looking round the room, Harry noticed that Draco Malfoy was watching the redhead intently. The Slytherin was often to be found examining the girls at Slughorn's parties lasciviously, but Harry doubted that Ginny was really the blond's type – certainly not that he would admit to. Still, maybe he did just like redheads.

"Excuse _moi_?"

A Beauxbatons wizard had walked up to them, a hesitant smile on his face. Harry returned the smile, reaching out to shake his hand while at the same time tutting mentally at his Tongues Charm. It was beginning to wear off already.

"Hi there! I'm Harry, this is my friend Hermione…" As Hermione shook the boy's hand, Harry surreptitiously tapped his ear with his wand, reinforcing the charm. That was the main problem with the spell; it was horribly embarrassing to reapply if it did start to wear off in the middle of a conversation, and there were only so many times you could reasonable excuse yourself.

"My name is Reynard, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Harry said, smiling warmly. Reynard's English was still stilted, but at least it was actually English now. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Very much," Reynard replied. "The food is delicious! Do you have it often?"

"Not really," Hermione said, looking slightly amused. "Professor Slughorn likes to reward talent though."

"Of course. We do not really have any professors like him at Beauxbatons," Reynard explained. "He seems very friendly."

"Mostly," Harry said, hedging slightly. It probably wasn't the time or place to let Hermione go off on one of her rants about the pros and cons of the Slug Club (she herself only really tolerating it for the chance at a more intellectual discussion than she tended to get after curfew, and of course the significantly better food).

"Are either of you going to enter the Tournament?"

Harry started to reply, but Hermione cut him off, rather too confidently. "I don't think so. We're both rather more academically minded, I'm afraid. Are you?"

"Of course!" He looked slightly offended by the question. "It is a great chance for me. One of my ancestors was Champion, when he was at Beauxbatons."

"Oh, really? Which Tournament?"

"Seventeen ninety two."

"Seventeen…" Hermione frowned. "That was the last year the Tournament took place, wasn't it? Until now, of course."

"Yes." Reynard looked slightly embarrassed. "He died fighting a hydra."

"Oh." There was an awkward moment of silence. "I'm sorry about that," Hermione finally offered. To Harry's relief, Reynard simply shrugged.

"It is all part of the fun, no?"

Harry could see that Hermione was about to say something very stinging, so he pre-empted her. "Reynard, while you're here I wonder if you could give me a bit of advice? I've been working on a spell, you see, and it seems to work better in French. The thing is, I'm not really sure about the incantation. Any suggestions?"

"What is it you would like the spell to do?"

The diversion worked; the three of them spent the next hour or so discussing various permutations of linguistics and magical theory. Ginny re-joined them after ten minutes at the buffet, but the conversation was a little dry for her tastes, and she soon wandered off again. By the time Reynard had bid them farewell, Harry had a fair few ideas of how to improve the spell, and was itching to leave the party to try them out. It was barely nine o'clock though, and he knew Slughorn would be disappointed if guests started leaving so early. Besides, he was actually having fun.

The party was by now in full swing. The different school groups had broken up, Beauxbatons students in their fine blue robes circling the Slug Club members in all their varied finery, and even some of the fur clad Durmstrang crowd had deigned to join the dancing. The food had by now mostly been consumed, and the tables has been Vanished to make more room for the dancers. Harry ducked to the side, content to watch the others rather than join in. He was happy to bob around to the Wyrd Sisters, but he had tried the waltz before, and rapidly concluded he was possessed of more than the traditional number of left feet.

That was the plan, at least. Someone gripped his arm, and before he knew what was happening he found himself in the middle of the dance-floor, surrounded by twirling couples. Ginny was manoeuvring his arms into the appropriate positions, and wearing a mischievous grin.

"Ginny…" he started to protest, but she cut him off.

"Oh, come on. Lighten up! No-one else is going to dance with me, are they?"

"I'm sure that's not true!"

"You're sweet," she told him with a smile, "but let's face it, I don't really know anyone here apart from you and Hermione. And can you really see her dancing with me?"

"When you put it like that…" Harry muttered wearily. "One dance. That's your lot."

"Thank you," she said with a smile, her eyes sparkling.

It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. Although he was next useless at the dancing, Ginny was surprisingly good, and happy to take the lead. In the end, he managed to restrain himself to only tripping over Ginny's feet once, and his own twice. By the time the orchestra brought the movement to a close, Ginny's cheeks were flushed with merriment, and he had to admit he had quite enjoyed the dance.

He sketched Ginny a polite bow as they parted, before joining in the applause for the orchestra. She responded with a curtsey, which looked horribly inappropriate coming from her.

"You're not as bad as you think," she said as they made their way off the dance-floor. Harry brushed the praise off, slightly embarrassed, but she persisted. "You are! You're going to cut quite the dash at the Ball."

"Oh! I'd forgotten that," Harry confessed. "I might not go, to be honest."

"Oh, why not?" Ginny exclaimed. "Come on, you've got to go. It'll be your last chance, you can't miss it."

"But I don't really dance…"

"So? You can still have a good time – hey, watch it!"

Ginny staggered slightly as someone barged past her. They didn't hang around, or even apologise, and Harry was just preparing to call after them to come back when Ginny suddenly fell to the floor, clutching her face and her eyes wide with horror. Immediately, Harry knelt beside her, but he quickly recoiled.

Something under her hands was _hissing_.

"Ginny, what the hell?"

She shot him a look of fearful desperation, and he gently prised her hands apart. Then he yelped: a tiny snake was slipping from her nose, and when her hands moved it lashed out at him, jaws wide. He stared at it for a moment, dumbfounded, and then realisation dawned. He cast his gaze over his shoulder, and his suspicions were confirmed. Draco Malfoy stood at the edge of the dance-floor, slightly behind the gathering crowd of onlookers. The Slytherin was smirking coldly, and his wand was in his hand. He mouthed something, but all Harry could make out was 'Pansy'.

A sudden jolt of fury washed over Harry, and he shot to his feet. His wand was in his hand without any real conscious decision, so fast that he might as well have successfully cast his new spell for the first time. Amusement glinted in Malfoy's eyes, and Harry went to raise his wand, to curse the Slytherin as best he could, but before he could think of a suitable spell Slughorn had appeared.

"What on Earth is going on? Oh dear, Miss Weasley…"

He eased her head back, his jowls wobbling slightly as he leant in to examine her. His task was complicated by her hands; she would not take them away from her nose. When Harry looked back at the crowd, Malfoy had disappeared.

"Miss Weasley, if you don't take your hands away I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to do anything. Do you understand?"

Ginny's only response was a whimper, and Harry looked back at her, casting Malfoy from his mind. For the moment. "Can't we get her out of here, Professor? There's so many people."

Slughorn looked up, and only then seemed to realise that there was an audience. His face creased with displeasure, although whether from the disturbance to the party or the fact that none of them were offering assistance Harry could not say. "Quite right, m'boy. My office will do for now, I think. Come along, Miss Weasley."

Ginny consented to be helped to her feet, Slughorn holding her hand and her other still covering her face. The hissing was louder now, and Harry gained the horrible impression that there was now more than one snake. He followed them, grabbing Hermione as they walked past her and dragging her along. She was staring at her younger friend in horror.

"Harry, what the hell happened?"

"Malfoy," he told her shortly. He didn't really need to say anything else. Behind them, music and conversation started up again.

Once in Slughorn's office, Ginny finally lowered her hand, and it was immediately obvious why she hadn't wanted anyone seeing her face. Two snakes were dangling from her nostrils, hissing and snapping at Slughorn's fingers as he tried to examine them. Hermione gasped, and Ginny ducked her head.

"Hmm. Fascinating…" Slughorn leant back and began stroking his moustache. Harry let him think in silence for a moment, then tried to jog him into something more.

"Professor?"

"Oh, yes. Seems to be a variation on that clever little hex Miss Weasley likes – what is it, the Bat-Snot Hex?"

"Bat Bogey," Hermione supplied, looking at Ginny with pity. Harry nodded his agreement.

"Of course. Well, shouldn't be too hard to fix. _Finite Incantatem_!"

Slughorn's theory was right; the snakes vanished instantly, and Ginny immediately brightened up.

"That better, Miss Weasley?"

"Yes, Professor! Thank you!"

"Don't mention it, my dear," Slughorn told her expansively. "Now, why don't we head back to the party? I think there's still a bit of food left, and certainly something to drink. I've always found a drink to be the best pick me up!"

Ginny offered him a weak smile, but Harry wasn't satisfied. "Sir, it was Draco Malfoy."

"What was?"

"This!" He waved an arm at Ginny in explanation. "He hexed her, I think he was retaliating for the Express."

"Ah, yes. Of course." Slughorn looked at Ginny appraisingly. "Well, no harm done, is there Miss Weasley? All fixed up and not even a scratch."

"Not a…" Harry stared at the Professor, appalled. "She had snakes crawling out of her nose!"

"Slithering, I think you'll find," Slughorn corrected him with a jocular grin. It didn't take long for his amusement to disappear, withering under the force of Harry's expression. "Harry, this is Hogwarts. Do you know how many children hex each other every day? If we gave out full punishments to every student who cast a spell in anger, half the school would be in detention at any given moment! It would be utter madness, my boy, utter madness."

"But he – "

"And, might I add, Miss Weasley would herself have been in detention for much of the term so far. Or are we applying double standards?"

Harry stood there for a moment, staring at Slughorn. Then he slumped. He suppose, when put like that, the professor had a point. It wasn't one that he liked, but he couldn't refute it. The professor spent another couple of minutes making sure that Ginny was ok, and then departed. Harry watched him go in sullen fashion. The party mood had rather deserted him, and judging by the expressions on Ginny and Hermione's faces, they felt very much the same.

"Come on. Let's head off." Ginny raised her eyes to look at him, and he smiled. "Rubbish party anyway. And all the decent food was gone."

She laughed weakly, and stood up. "I don't really feel like dancing anymore, it's true."

"I'll walk you back to your common room."

"Harry, that's really not necessary," Hermione started to say. He just looked at her, and she fell silent.

The corridors on the way back were quiet, curfew having long since come into effect. All of Slughorn's guests were advised to carry their invitations to and from the party, in case they ran into Filch. Oddly, Harry had never seen the caretaker on one of these occasions. Maybe he just hid himself away for the night, muttering to Mrs Norris about the debauchery he no doubt thought the parties consisted of.

They stopped outside the Fat Lady, who did not seem happy to see a Ravenclaw so close to the Gryffindor sanctum so late at night. The trio ignored her.

"So. Are all the parties like that?"

Hermione shook her head at Ginny's question. "No, they're usually much more civilised. I'm sure Slughorn _will_ be yelling at Malfoy over it, even if it's just because he disturbed the dancing."

"Good." The younger girl shivered. "That spell was creepy."

"I don't see how it's different to yours, Ginny…" Hermione replied, taking her customary role as devil's advocate. Harry glared at her.

"Come on, Hermione. Ginny had bloody snakes crawling out of her nose. That's messed up."

"I don't disagree, but…" Hermione cut herself off with a weary sigh. "It doesn't really matter. I'm too tired to argue. The scariest thing about it for me is how quickly he came up with it. He's a far better wizard than I thought."

"What do you mean?" Harry said, his brow furrowing with confusion. Hermione tutted, a sharp and irritating sound.

"Isn't it obvious? He's made that spell up in the last couple of weeks, probably just since the start of term. Alright, he's just modifying an already existing spell for a similar effect, but still. Impressive stuff, if you think about it."

"Oh. Yeah." Harry blinked slowly. He hadn't thought about it like that, but Hermione was right. In six years at Hogwarts, he had come to be passably familiar with all the traditional hexes and jinxes, but he had never seen Malfoy's spell before. That alone was a significant indicator suggesting that he had devised it himself, never mind the parallels with Ginny's favoured spell. And, sad to say, that was almost the worst part of the evening.

Draco Malfoy had successfully created a spell before he had.

The goodnights and goodbyes passed in a haze, although he managed to be polite, and gave both girls a hug before walking away. He could hear the Fat Lady closing behind them, and could almost feel her glaring at him as he left.

It was stupid really. He wasn't particularly competitive, and if Hermione had managed anything with her spell creation he would have been delighted for her. And while he didn't get on with Malfoy, a fact which put him in common with about ninety five percent of the student body, and at least half the teaching faculty, they had never really clashed, that one time in their first year aside. He also didn't like to consider what it said about him if he was more annoyed at being outshone academically than at one of his friends being hurt.

But then, that wasn't really an issue. Ginny was fine, physically at least, and while he had snapped at Hermione's comments, the older witch had a point: Malfoy hadn't done anything that Ginny hadn't done herself. It was just the last straw, really. It was easy to dismiss Malfoy most of the time, thinking of him as nothing more than a preening little brat with an inflated opinion of himself – and then, once in a while, he would do something that suggested he actually did have a pretty decent brain underneath it all. No doubt he was feeling particularly pleased with himself right now. The thought of watching his smug little grin in a week or so, if he was chosen as Champion…

Harry stopped dead, and an unusually unpleasant smile started to spread across his face.

Now that was an idea.


	11. Champion

**A/N:** A tip of the hat to Tylendel over at DLP for his suggestion for the French incantation – subsequent mucking around all my own, with apologies to the French language.

**Chapter 11: Champion**

"_Reviens, baguette!_"

Harry's wand leapt into the air, but came clattering down only a short distance away from where he had originally placed it, on the other side of the table to where he was sitting. It was out of easy reach, but the fact remained that the wand had moved. The spell worked. Harry burst out in a smile, and leant lower over the table, stretching out his hand once more.

"_Reviens,_ _baguette!_"

This time, the length of ash simply rolled towards him, but Harry was perfectly content with that. The conversation with Reynard at the party had paid dividends, and his spell was working better than ever.

It hadn't been an entirely simple matter. Reynard had suggested '_Reviens, baguette magique_' for the full spell, and Harry had played around with it before settling on the shorter version. While the longer incantation was a more accurate translation of what he was trying to do, it did not exactly trip off the tongue, and given the nature of the spell there would probably be situations where an extra, largely unnecessary word could be fatal. Besides, Harry quietly believed that intent more than made up for any deficiencies in the actual speaking of the spell, and that went double for a spell that by necessity had no wand gesture.

Flicking his wand, now gripped firmly in his hand, he muttered the words '_Demitto Fulsi_', and a ball of light appeared next to his head, hovering there unobtrusively. He had long since mastered the spell, much to Flitwick's delight. The diminutive professor had challenged Harry to a competition to see who could hang the highest number of conjured baubles from their robes to celebrate the end of O.W.L.s, apparently without realising that his pupil's extra height gave him an unfair advantage. Harry grinned at the memory, the gloriously silly sight of Professor Flitwick radiating light always something that cheered him up.

He stretched, yawning quietly, then examined his watch by the light of the bauble. He grimaced. He was up far too late again. He hadn't found it easy to sleep over the last week or so, beset by worry and a streak of regret, but there wasn't a lot he could do about it now. Besides, he was at least being productive.

He was far too awake now though. He grinned again. It worked. It actually _worked_! Suddenly overwhelmed with glee, he did something very few wizards would willingly do, and threw his wand to the other side of the common room. Then he threw his hand out and barked out the incantation. He practically doubled over with delight when his wand leapt over the settee towards him. It didn't quite go the full distance, but he didn't care.

It worked!

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The morning after, Harry's excitement had dulled, and he was beginning to wish that he had taken some Dreamless Sleep potion and just forgotten all about the spell. He yawned expansively as he manoeuvred a slice of bacon around his plate, longing for the comfort of the four poster bed upstairs. The prospect of double Defence on four hours sleep was not one he relished, particularly since Underwood was likely to be in a rotten mood. The grizzled Defence professor was getting on in years, and had little time for such occasions as the Tournament.

His weary reverie was broken by the arrival of Ron, who threw himself down onto the bench next to him with a disgruntled sigh. Anthony, who had been respecting his friend's exhaustion by hovering up a plate of bacon and eggs with enthusiasm, looking disapprovingly at the redhead. Ron ignored him.

"I need your help, mate."

Harry took a bite of bacon, chewed it slowly, carefully, and swallowed. Then he looked at Ron, smiling brightly. "Good morning! And how are you?"

"Merlin, which side of whose bed did you wake up on this morning?" Ron said. Harry glowered, and Ron held up his hands. "Ok, ok. Morning. Did you sleep alright?"

"Do I _look_ like I slept alright?" Harry demanded.

"Not really," Ron said with a shrug. "Listen, it's about Malfoy."

"Oh, for God's sake…" Harry moaned, lowering his head to the table. It wasn't entirely a surprise. Over the last week or so, Ron had become increasingly antagonistic towards the Slytherin. It was perfectly understandable – Harry would be the first to admit to harbouring some less than favourable thoughts towards Draco – but Ron was obsessed.

"You're not going to let him get away with it, are you? Slughorn's done sod all!"

"What exactly am I supposed to be doing?" Harry asked, looking up at Ron. Ron shrugged.

"I dunno. You're the brain-box, you tell me?"

"Great plan," Anthony remarked around a mouthful of egg. Ron shot him a dirty look.

"I'm working on it…"

"Ron, you do remember what happened the last time we teamed up against Malfoy, don't you? We got caught. By Dumbledore."

"Well, yes…" Ron said. "But that was then. That was years ago!"

"Yes, and I'm sure he won't hold it against us when we get caught this time," Harry snapped back. "Look, if you want to get back at Malfoy, just hex him next time you see him in the corridor. You don't need to be a master strategist to do that."

"Do you really think that hadn't occurred to me?" Ron said with an irritated expression. "I'm not an idiot. But that's not enough – he humiliated my sister!"

"She seems ok to me," Anthony said, looking over Ron's shoulder. Harry followed his friend's gaze; it was true, Ginny was looking cheerful enough, laughing at something with a fellow Gryffindor. She saw them looking, and gave them a jaunty wave.

"She hides it well," Ron said. Harry gave Ron a dubious look, and he sighed. "Ok, she's fine, but that's not the point. It's the principle of the thing!"

"Oh well, that's ok then. So long as it's a matter of principle."

"Are you going to help me or not?"

"Ron…you haven't told me what it is you want me to do."

"Oh!" Ron looked slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, ok. I know that calling him out or something isn't going to work. He's not stupid enough to do that now. But I don't know all that many hexes. Certainly nothing that's going to do enough to him to pay him back."

Harry sighed, and poked at his bacon listlessly. "Wouldn't you be better off writing to Fred and George? They must have hundreds of hexes they could teach you."

"I can't do that! They'd never let me forget it if I had to go to them for help. Besides," and here Ron looked a little uncomfortable, "can you imagine what they'd do to Malfoy if they found out about this? I'm not that angry."

Harry conceded this point. The twins could be inventively vicious to those who inspired their fury. Placing his fork down, he pulled his notebook out of his pocket, and scribbled down a couple of words, before tearing the sheet loose and passing it to Ron. The red head looked down at it hopefully.

"What is it?"

"It's a hex."

"I can see that you pillock. What does it do?"

"If you don't screw it up? It'll turn his kneecaps the wrong way round," Harry told him. "Should stop him walking around for a while, at least until Crabbe and Goyle can drag him upstairs."

Ron nodded appreciatively. "Nice! Knew I could count on you, mate." He stood up, clapping Harry on the back before heading off with a satisfied air. Harry went back to his bacon. Across the table, Anthony put his spoon down, an expression of concern on his face.

"Is that a good idea?"

"Hmm? Why wouldn't it be?"

Anthony just looked at him, and Harry sighed. "Look, it's not a terribly complex spell, so chances are he won't screw it up. Even if he does, it's not going to really hurt Malfoy. If he gets it right, then Draco will have the piss taken out of him for a bit, and Madame Pomfrey will be able to fix him up with a tap of her wand. Ron gets to feel better about things, Draco looks like a prat, no-one gets hurt or – crucially – in any particular trouble."

Anthony did not look convinced of Harry's optimistic outlook, but said nothing more. They went back to their food in silence. As they left though, there was a little crackle from the other end of the room; when Harry looked over his shoulder, there was a little belch of flame coming from the Goblet, still standing in front of the staff table. Had the flame changed colour slightly?

With a start, Harry realised that today was the day. The Goblet would announce its chosen Champions for the Tournament at the feast that night.

Suddenly, he felt rather nauseous.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The day passed without word of non-ambulant Draco Malfoy, so Harry assumed that Ron had either not seen him, or had not had the nerve to just outright hex him. Either possibility was fine with Harry. He had more important things to worry about than what chaos his friend might be causing; where most people where chattering in excitement over the pending selection, he was on the verge of a panic attack.

Due to the nature of the night's events, a more formal structure had been applied; everyone was in strict uniform, the hated hats and all, and seated at their house tables rather than with other friends. Despite this, there was a definite sense of nervous excitement around the hall, especially from the Gryffindor table. There was a common assumption that the Hogwarts Champion would be chosen from their house, a hat-trick if so. Harry crossed his fingers and wished all their applicants luck – although if Cormac McClaggen was chosen, there would probably be a school wide riot in disgust.

Within Ravenclaw, only two people were known to have entered their names; Cho Chang, the house Seeker, and Freddie Brennan, a seventh year with a specialty in Charms. Cho was widely considered to be the most likely pick from the house, largely due to her more obvious physical prowess. Nobody from Harry's year had admitted to entering, although he had seen Su Li staring at the Goblet with an almost frightening intensity a few times. Over in Hufflepuff, most of the Quidditch players had entered, although Edmund Summerby, the Seeker, was most vocal about it.

Nobody from Slytherin had come right out and said they'd entered, but almost everyone eligible for Championship was sporting a condescending expression that night, looking round at the other students as if the whole thing was a foregone conclusion.

The Goblet had been wheeled further into the centre of the Hall, right in front of the Headmaster's chair. The effect was a little unsettling, to Harry's mind; Dumbledore was sitting there with his usual expression of benign interest, but now he was looking out at them all over writhing blue flames. The old wizard looked like something out of a Muggle story now, even more so than usual, but now he was playing the part of the villain. Even when Madame Maxime, sitting at his right, said something to him that provoked a beard-shaking chuckle, there was something off-putting about it.

There was no attempt to cut to the chase; Dumbledore and the other staff seemed perfectly content to wait until after they had eaten to hold the draw. Nobody on the students' side of the Hall was eating much, as far as Harry could see, most people eating a few bites before sinking back into frenzied debate. Over at the Gryffindor table, it looked like a betting syndicate had broken out, and Cormac was arguing his odds.

Eventually though, Dumbledore stood up, rapping a fork gently against his goblet. Silence fell so quickly that Harry wouldn't have been surprised to find out the goblet was enchanted to do so. He beamed at them all, and spread his arms wide.

"I would like to begin by thanking you all for your patience! I know it is unfeasible cruel of us to keep you in suspense for the duration of dinner, but we professors are regrettably practical sorts, and sustenance must take priority."

He paused for a moment, walking at a leisurely pace around to the front of the table, finally coming to a halt just to the side of the Goblet. He rested his hand on the stand for a moment, looking into the flames with a smile. Then he turned to face the students once more, a bright smile on his face.

"The Triwizard Tournament is a noble tradition, designed to test the Champions in every way imaginable. It will reward skill, inventiveness, courage, and honour. Those happy few chosen can count themselves – regardless of the eventual winner – among the finest wizards and witches of a generation. To be Champion is to be honoured almost beyond compare. And it is not something to be undertaken lightly." Dumbledore paused for a moment, sweeping a suddenly piercing gaze across the Hall. "There have been many Champions who have doubted their ability, and many who have doubted them in turn. But the Goblet chooses only the best. So take heart! And let the draw commence!"

He stepped back, and the flames from the Goblet leapt higher in the air, suddenly turning a deep crimson. Closing his eyes, Harry crossed his fingers.

There was a sudden whoosh of sparks, and Harry's eyes snapped open. Dumbledore was stretching up to grab a scorched bit of parchment. His fingers closed around it rather like Harry's father claiming a Snitch. He read it, then looked out at them all again. "For Beauxbatons, Reynard Merovich!"

There was an eruption of applause as the wizard Harry had spent most of Slughorn's party talking to stood up to make his way to the front. He was grinning, practically laughing with excitement, and many of his friends clapped him on the back in celebration as he walked past them. As he reached the front, Madame Maxime went one further, reaching over the table to shake him by the hand. Reynard took up position on the other side of the Goblet to Dumbledore, still smiling brightly. As he turned to face the crowd, there was another burst of sparks, and a second scrap of parchment leapt from the flames.

"For Durmstrang…Mara Aramov!"

Somewhat more restrained applause this time, as a haughty looking young witch, with dark hair flowing down her back, made her way to the front. By contrast with Maxime's exuberance, Karkaroff simply joined in the applause, although he did incline his head towards her in a gesture almost like respect. Whatever was intended, it was clearly more than Aramov had been expecting; something almost like pride slipped onto her face, and there was a trace of a smile as she took her place next to Reynard – although she did not deign to look at her fellow Champion.

"And for Hogwarts…Harry Potter!"

_Oh. Shit._

It had happened.

Harry found himself staring into space for what felt like an eternity, but could really not have been more than a second. Anthony brought him back to himself, slapping him on the back and laughing with shock. "You git! Why the hell didn't you say anything?"

Harry did not reply, simply shrugging and offering a smile as he stood up. He barely registered his walk up to the front of the hall; he could hear the applause he was receiving, as if from a long way away, but it wasn't until he reached the Goblet that anything penetrated his daze. As he walked past Dumbledore, the elderly wizard touched his shoulder.

"Well _done, _Harry."

Those three words did more to relax Harry than he would ever have thought. Maybe, he thought to himself as he took his place next to Aramov, maybe it would be ok. After all, it was like Dumbledore had said; the Goblet wouldn't have chosen him if it didn't think he could do it. Although that begged the question of just how the Goblet judged your capabilities…did it have access to your exam results? Had it read the essays you had slaved over? Somehow, he knew that 'magic' was likely to be the only answer he would ever get on the subject, and while that was normally answer enough, on this occasion he suspected it would not be much comfort.

Nonetheless…he had been chosen. Dumbledore thought he could do it, he had seen it in the old wizard's eyes. Somewhat to his surprise, he realised he was smiling widely. Not even Hermione's closed expression, just visible at the other end of the Hall, could remove it.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

An hour or so later, Harry was starting to make his way back to the Ravenclaw common room, his head spinning slightly from all the rules and regulations that the Champions had just had explained to them. A sour faced Barty Crouch had spent a good twenty minutes longer than was necessary talking them through everything, most of which boiled down to 'You're going to be on show, so don't be an idiot, and don't make us look bad", as far as Harry could see. They had then been informed that there would be a wand-weighing ceremony in the next few days, followed by a photocall, the prospect of which did not excite Harry in the slightest.

The fact that he was Champion was slowly starting to sink in. It was curious; in the days after he had put his name in, in what he had come to think of as the absolutely defining moment of madness, he had been absolutely terrified of what was going to happen. Now though…while he would not necessarily claim he was over the moon at his 'luck', he had to admit that he was rather excited. He knew, of course, the stories from previous tournaments, and Anton Sullivan was not to be lightly dismissed, but…the Tournament was at Hogwarts this year. Which meant that Dumbledore was in charge. And while the Headmaster would of course want to put on a good show, he had nothing to prove. Harry was fairly convinced that there wouldn't be anything quite as extravagant as a wraith this year.

"Harry?"

Harry turned with a start. As if his thoughts had summoned him, Dumbledore was walking towards him.

"And how are you feeling, my boy?" The Headmaster drew level with him, and they started to walk together.

"I'm…can I get back to you on that, sir?"

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Of course. It is quite something, is it not? I have to confess, I was not entirely certain you would enter."

"I wasn't going to," Harry admitted. "It was…sort of a spur of the moment thing."

"These things often are. No regrets though, I trust?"

"Let me see what the tasks are before I answer that one," Harry replied with a grin.

"Ha! Very sensible Harry. Such caution will serve you well over the next few months. I have every confidence in you though. I can not think of a better Champion for the school."

Harry ducked his head slightly, faintly embarrassed but very pleased.

"I imagine your parents will be delighted as well."

"Yeah, yeah I think so," Harry replied. Then he thought about it for a second. "Well…my mum might be more worried than delighted. My dad'll be thrilled though."

"Such is the way of mothers," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I wonder…would you care to take advantage of my fireplace? I'm sure they would want to hear the news in person."

"Yeah, that would be great! Thanks!"

Although Harry was rather more familiar with the Headmaster than most of his peers, that was largely due to his parents' longstanding association with him than anything else; thus far in his time at Hogwarts, he had not yet had occasion to visit Dumbledore's office. The closest he had ever come was on Halloween in his first year, when Voldemort had nearly killed him in the corridor outside. It was hardly something he relished remembering. It was strange, therefore, to see the gargoyle swing aside with a salute to its master – as opposed to rugby tackling a vicious dark wizard – and the office itself was surprisingly normal. Walls lined with bookshelves, with portraits higher up. A desk piled high with paperwork. It was clearly a place of work. He was somehow disappointed.

Then came a soft chirrup, and Harry realised that there was a phoenix on a stand in the corner.

"I don't think you've met Fawkes, have you Harry?"

Harry shook his head, approaching the magnificent bird in awe. Even in the dimly lit room, the deep red feathers gleamed, with little flickers of flame at the wing tips. Fawkes shuffled on his perch, and trilled softly in something that seemed to Harry to speak of recognition. Whatever it was, the sound sent a warm glow right through him, and he grinned.

"You are quite fortunate," Dumbledore continued. "He only recently went through a Burning Day; he still has a certain youthful vigour now, although I shudder to think how old he truly is."

"How long have you had him?" Harry asked, reaching out tentatively to stroke the phoenix. The flames were warm, but did not so much as tingle as they flickered over his fingers.

"I'm not entirely certain that I 'have' Fawkes at all, Harry. He's much more of a friend than a familiar, after all. Very good at crossword clues, believe it or not."

Harry laughed, looking over his shoulder at Dumbledore, but the Headmaster did not appear to be joking. Shrugging, and with one final admiring glance at Fawkes, Harry headed to the fireplace, where Dumbledore was holding a jar of Floo powder.

"Don't be too long, Harry. You may be Champion, but you still have curfew, don't forget."

"Actually it's patrol duties tonight, sir."

"Well, even more reason to be prompt then, my boy."

Floo travel was probably one of Harry's least favourite things in the world. Apparation might leave you feeling squeezed around the middle, but Flooing always left him nauseous, dizzy and worried that his robes might have caught fire. And he still hadn't quite mastered the trick of exiting smoothly – although he was infinitely better than Sirius' cousin, Tonks.

Or at least, he usually was. On this occasion, he stepped out, staggered, and stood on his own robes, ending up sprawling on the floor. He pushed himself to his knees, shaking his head in irritation, then snapped his head up at the sound of rushing feet. The door to the lounge burst open and his father leapt in, his wand out. Before he had fully registered who was there, he had snapped off a spell. Harry yelped, falling back, but his own wand was in his hand and he deflected the spell into the wall with a smooth gesture. Father and son stared at each other across the room, James panting heavily.

"Merlin and Morgana, Harry, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Hi Dad, nice to see you…"

"Don't get snarky with me, do you have any idea…" James took a deep breath, visibly restraining himself. "Sorry. And sorry for trying to curse you. You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry replied, climbing to his feet. He shot a guilty look at the wall. "Sorry."

"I think we can let it go under the circumstances," James replied wryly. "You just startled me, that's all. You know, unannounced individual just Flooing into the front room…"

"Oh. Yeah. Shit, I didn't think!" It was true. Given the heightened security those in the Order had taken up, he really ought to have let his parents know he was coming. It was a wonder that they hadn't both appeared firing off the most vicious curses they could think of.

"Well, no harm done," his father said, pocketing his wand. "So…are you ok?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. Just wanted to talk to you both."

Concern flashed across James' face. "What's up?"

"I'm the Champion. The Triwizard Champion, I mean. In the Tournament."

There was a long moment of silence while James just stared at his son. Then he burst out laughing and bounded across the room to embrace him.

"You're bloody kidding! That's fantastic! I thought you weren't…"

Harry laughed slightly ruefully, shrugged. "I wasn't. Seemed like a good idea at the time though."

"That's the kind of reasoning I like!" James said, stepping back and beaming. "Merlin. My son, Champion. Never thought I'd see that."

"Proudest moment of your life?"

"I'm always proud of you!" James shot back defensively. "But yeah, this is pretty fantastic, I've got to admit."

"I know you are," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Just winding you up. Where's mum?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. She's at the Burrow – ladies night with Molly and Alice. So what changed your mind?"

Harry hesitated. "Well, Professor Slughorn pointed out a couple of benefits…"

"But?"

"Did mum tell you about Draco Malfoy and Ginny the other week?" Harry asked, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. James nodded, with a flicker of displeasure. "Well, I knew he'd put his name in the Goblet, and I was so angry, and…I just kinda didn't want to see him walking around the school with that smug look on his face."

James nodded once, very slowly. "Harry. Are you seriously standing there telling me that you entered the Triwizard Tournament, one of the toughest, most challenging things a wizard can do, just to piss off a Malfoy?"

Harry considered this, then returned the nod. "Yeah, I guess so."

"I was wrong a moment ago. This, this is the proudest moment of my life!" James burst out laughing once more, pulling Harry over to a cabinet in the corner of the room. "Come on, we need to celebrate!"


	12. Marked

**Chapter 12: Marked**

Harry found himself rudely awakened the next morning, by a pillow connecting with his face at some speed.

"Wha…?" he muttered, looking up blearily and fumbling for his glasses. When his vision cleared, he saw Anthony, standing next to the bed with an exasperated look on his face.

"What the hell happened to you last night? You missed the party!"

"What party?" Harry asked, sitting up.

"_Your_ party, you idiot. You're the bloody Champion! What did you think, it'd be a slap on the back and a 'Well done!'?"

"I, ah…well, I hadn't thought about that, to be honest. Did I miss much?"

"_Yes_!" Anthony sat down on his own bed, staring at his friend. Then he shrugged. "Well, I suppose in the end you didn't; it didn't really get started because you weren't there, but we were all having a few drinks. We wanted to celebrate, you're the first Ravenclaw since the Tournament restarted."

"Yeah, I guess. Sorry mate, I went to tell my parents. Dumbledore let me use his Floo. Spent a couple of hours there." He smiled at the recollection. "My dad was really pleased. Can't remember the last time I saw him so enthusiastic about something, to be honest."

"Well, that's good," Anthony said grudgingly. "How long were you there?"

"Dunno. Couple of hours?"

"So where did you go when you got back?"

"I…" Harry hesitated. He had a feeling his answer wasn't going to go down terribly well. "Well, I had patrol…"

Anthony spent a long moment glaring at him, then threw the pillow at him again. "I swear to God, Harry, sometimes I think you're beyond all help. Come on. People will want to see you before breakfast."

Harry sighed and slumped back onto his pillow as Anthony left the room. He hadn't considered the general reaction around Hogwarts. Now that he had…it almost made him more nauseous than the thought of the tasks. At least he knew how to deal with those, in principle at least. Being the centre of attention? That was something he had no idea about.

His first taste, on descending to the common room half an hour or so later, was more muted than Anthony had implied; most people had already gone down to breakfast it seemed, or were taking advantage of a last few minutes hidden from the realities of a November morning in a Scottish castle. Those few people still in the room though appeared to have found a way around the restrictions on Apparation, such was the speed with which they vacated their seats to come and congratulate him; a hearty slap on the back from Michael Corner, a boy in the year below, and a hearty declaration that he had always believed Harry could do it; a dazzling smile from Cho Chang which made him fleetingly regret her longstanding relationship with Cedric Diggory; a firm handshake and an invitation to discuss strategy from Sachin Tripathy, a Beater on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team – a request Harry declined for the present, making the not unreasonable point that he had no idea what the tasks might be yet.

He made as quick an exit as he could, muttering about needing some food and offering a vague promise to talk properly later, and made his way down the Grand Stairs to the main hall. It was bewildering; the castle appeared to be full of people who knew him all of a sudden, people who knew just how good he was at magic and how well he was going to do, despite the fact that he barely recognised most of them even in passing. He wondered how they would react if he admitted that he had entered his name purely on a petty whim. He couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the thought that most of the Gryffindors, at least, would probably have a great deal more respect for him if they knew that.

Upon entering the main hall though, he was greeted with what might not have quite reached the level of thunderous applause, but was certainly a far, far more enthusiastic welcome than the student body than he had hitherto experienced. Every single student at the Ravenclaw table rose in a standing ovation, and a sizeable number from the other houses joined them. The scattered Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students were more restrained, but respectful nonetheless. He could not see Renard, but Mara Aramov, the Durmstrang champion, was eyeing him distinctly coolly. He looked away quickly, not exactly at his ease facing the intimidating looking girl under such circumstances, and made a beeline for his usual spot, which was looking rather more crowded than usual, although Anthony had saved him a seat. His friend slid him a plate piled with bacon and toast, and smirked at him.

"Told you."

"You did, can't deny it," Harry admitted, taking a bite of some toast and waving at a staring young girl on the Hufflepuff table. She immediately blushed a terrifying scarlet, and disappeared in the midst of a group of squealing house-mates. "I'm not sure I like it yet…"

"Don't worry, we won't let it go to your head," Terry Boot chipped in.

"Oh, definitely!" Anthony exclaimed. "Whenever it looks like the attention's getting to you, we'll be on hand with something to deflate you a little, ok?"

"I couldn't ask for better friends."

"We know, mate," Terry said, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder. "But we'll shoulder that burden, it's ok. Oh, yeah. Congratulations I guess."

"You're too kind," Harry replied.

"Any thoughts on strategy yet?" a boy named Bexley asked, leaning across the table with a level of enthusiasm Harry wasn't accustomed to at this hour of the morning.

"Well…I don't actually know what I'll be doing yet," Harry told him. "So no. Be good at magic, I guess?" He didn't quite understand why the boy looked so disappointed with that answer. What had he expected?

And then Hermione crashed down in front of him with a face like thunder, and jabbed her finger threateningly at him. "What the _hell_ were you thinking, Harry James Potter?!"

Harry leant back a little, trying to pretend he hadn't heard Anthony muttering "Uh-oh" under his breath. "Morning, Hermione. You alright?"

"Don't 'morning' me, Harry! What the hell?!"

Harry sighed, and looked at young Bexley, now staring at Hermione in rapt awe. When the boy failed to take the hint, he drew his wand and gave a certain flick; Bexley immediately clapped his hands over his ears, staring around in confusion. Harry turned his attention back to Hermione, who appeared to have moderated her temper in favour of curiosity.

"What did you do?"

"Little spell my godfather taught me over the summer," Harry told her. "Makes it sound like there's a swarm of wasps around, really good for making sure you can't be overheard."

"Oh? That's quite interesting actually – could I get the incan…" She broke off, shaking her head. "No! Don't distract me, I'm still mad at you!"

"What for?" Harry demanded, exasperated. "Stop snapping at me and tell me what I've done!"

"This!" she hissed, waving her arms around. "You, Champion! You're going to get yourself killed!"

"Well, thank you for your support," he replied, glaring at her. She just glared right back at him.

"Don't try and guilt trip me. We talked! Remember Sullivan? And he was in the Duelling Club, played Quidditch every week, top grades across the board!"

"I like to think I'm fairly smart."

"You're very smart, but that doesn't make you a Champion! You read books. You invent spells. You're an academic, not a sports-star!"

"The Goblet picked me for a reason, you know. And it's not like I can't apply that knowledge in practice."

"Oh of course, because the pressure's going to be so similar to the exam hall! And Defence isn't quite your best subject!"

Before Harry could respond to that, Anthony leant between them, glowering. "Do you guys want to take this somewhere else? We might not be able to hear you, but we can still _see_ you!"

They both stared at him, before looking around, breaking their focus on each other. Sure enough, their argument, although utterly inaudible to anyone other than themselves, was clearly drawing attention. They were hardly the focus of the room, but Harry knew his fellow students well enough to know that half the school would have heard about it by the end of the day. It was precisely the sort of thing that he had been worried about since waking up that morning, and he shot Hermione a disgusted look, which seemed only to irritate her more.

"Anything else you want to tell me? Or can I have my breakfast in peace now?"

She looked at him for a long moment, and then stood up and walked away, shaking her head. He watched her return to the Gryffindor table, where Ginny immediately pulled her in close. The red head shot him a fleeting look of confusion, to which he shrugged before turning away. Anthony was watching him carefully.

"Really though, congratulations," Terry said. "You must be thrilled."

"Oh yeah," he replied with a sour look. "Just giddy."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry found it hard to concentrate in classes for the rest of the day. Partly because of the row with Hermione, which sent him into a black mood every time it crossed his thoughts, but also because of the sheer amount of staring to which he was subjected. He might have been able to cope if it had just been the students, but he nearly walked out of Charms when Professor Flitwick started applauding at his entrance. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the support, but he would have preferred it to be a little more discrete. It didn't help that Terry and Anthony were treading on eggshells around him. He didn't get angry often, so he supposed he could understand them being a little wary, but it was infuriating.

Then Ron caught up with him outside the Defence classroom (in which he had taken immense pleasure in receiving full marks for his work on counter-curses), and slung his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Hey, mate!"

Harry looked at him suspiciously. This was unusually effusive for Ron. "Hey there."

"Never thought I'd be friends with a Champion!" Ron said with a slight laugh. "And no offense, never would have thought it'd be you – you'll be great though! How you feeling? Excited?"

"Irritated, mostly. Getting sick of being stared at."

"What, you weren't paying attention the last couple of years? The whole school went nuts for McCoy, and she wasn't even here for most of the year."

"I suppose," Harry admitted. "Still not sure I like it."

"Ah, you'll get used to it," Ron told him airily. "Just remember us all when you're famous, 'kay?"

There was a slightly wistful tone to his voice, and Harry repressed a wince. He knew Ron had been thinking about putting his name in, and for all he knew, he might actually have gone through with it. He hadn't considered that when he'd put his own name in – not that he'd really been thinking about all that much at the time – and it wasn't unknown for Ron to go through bouts of jealousy and insecurity. He hoped this wasn't going to be one of those times.

"Course I will!" was all he said though. "You can be my publicist, how's that sound?"

"Pretty dull, to be honest," he replied with a grin. "You can give that one to Hermione."

Harry scowled. "Sure, if she really wants it."

"Why wouldn't she? She loves organising you."

"Not if this morning's anything to go by – ow!" He reeled slightly, Ron just having clipped him round the back of the head. "What the hell was that for?"

"Being a pillock," Ron said, as if that explained anything at all.

"She started it! She's the one who thinks I'm incompetent – and where the hell does she get that from?"

Ron just stared at him incredulously. "Is that what you think this is about?"

"Well…that's what she said. Kind of, anyway." He had to duck as Ron tried to smack his head again. "Hey!"

"How can you be so smart and so bloody stupid at the same time? She's worried about you! Should have seen her last night: 'Oh, what if he gets hurt? What if they give him something really dangerous to do? They had a dragon a few years ago, what if he has to face that again?'" He shook his head. "Honestly, bloody aggravating it was. Didn't shut up for hours."

"… Are you serious?" That was something else he hadn't really considered. A little concern was understandable, but Ron was describing something far more than that. "Why's she so worried?"

Ron leant in close, affecting a knowing expression. "Because she has feelings for you that she's only ever felt about the Restricted Section before now."

Harry stared at him blankly, and Ron sighed. "She fancies you, you muppet."

"What? No she doesn't!"

"Oh, like you'd know a crush if it hit you in the face?"

It wasn't an entirely unfair point, Harry had to admit. "I suppose not…but seriously? She fancies me?"

"Guarantee it, mate."

"She's never said anything."

"Well, you don't, do you? Not unless you're sure they like you back, and you don't."

"I've never really thought about her that way," Harry said.

"Exactly. If she hasn't got you to polish your wand at least once in all the time you've known her, you're probably never going to."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, trying to banish that particular image. "You've got such a fantastic command of the language, Ron."

"Cheers. It's growing up with the twins. They'd amaze you," Ron told him cheerfully.

"I'm sure." They walked on in silence for a while, Harry musing over the new information. Ron was right, he'd had no idea, and he wasn't certain how he felt. He was very fond of Hermione, and their argument that morning had upset him for more than just the obvious reasons of feeling un-supported, but when he tried to picture her as anything other than a friend…something about it just didn't click. Still, he had to admit that it was a little flattering. And it did put her outburst that morning in a more understandable light, leaving him feeling a little guilty. He'd have to try and find her later, try and make it up to her.

Preferably without giving her the wrong impression.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The worst part of the day came after dinner, as Harry, Anthony and Terry were heading back to the common room. Leaving the grand staircase on the fifth floor, they became aware of a small group of people at the end of a corridor, huddled together as if hiding something in the middle of the group. Anywhere else in the castle, they might not have really noticed it, or at least not paid much attention to it – it was hardly unusual to find people grouped up checking out some dubious spell, or a Zonko's product that Filch would have begged to skin them alive for simply possessing – but in this part of the castle, it was a different story. Ravenclaws in general had little to hide – a combination of intellectual curiosity and openness being considered a good thing, and not being stupid enough to have anything even vaguely dubious out in the corridors. There was one Ravenclaw student though who appeared to draw trouble upon herself, and often in groups. The three friends exchanged weary glances, and made their way down the corridor, readying their wands as they did so.

Before they got too close, Harry cast a quick charm on their ears, the better to work out what was going on – it was always embarrassing to go in like a knight in shining armour, only to find that nothing untoward was happening. On this occasion though, their instincts were right; he could hear Luna Lovegood's familiar, relentlessly airy tones, and more aggressive sounds from the people harassing her. He shook his head in exasperation. Nobody ever did anything too bad to her, but that wasn't the point at all. Luna was clearly batty, but that was no reason to treat her like a freak.

The various students who stuck up for her on such occasions had learnt that it was best to make an entrance. It saved time in the long run; few students seemed to make the intellectual leap between the idea that Ravenclaws were, as a rule, more talented and widely read than the average student, and the idea that as a result, a Ravenclaw might be more able to inventively jinx you than, say, a Gryffindor, and so letting the initiative get away from them could lead to far more hassle than anyone wanted.

So he extended his wand, gave a quick upward flick, and smiled slightly as one of the group was hoisted into the air by his ankles.

At his sides, Anthony and Terry cast their own spells, and two other members of the group fell to the floor as they spun around, their feet mysteriously resistant to movement. It was only then that they realised the students they had jinxed were not from Ravenclaw. They weren't even from Hogwarts.

The trio slowed to a halt, reassessing the situation in light of the fact that jinxing a group of rather burly Durmstrang students was probably not the best idea they'd ever had. Harry gulped. While it was true you could rely on a Ravenclaw to having something unexpected up their sleeve, it was also generally held to be true that you could rely on a Durmstrang student to know something nasty that might leave you permanently scarred. And that didn't even take into account the fact that no-one was likely to look kindly on the Hogwarts Champion assaulting some guests less than twenty four hours after the Goblet had chosen.

One of the visitors took his eyes off them for a moment, looking up at his steadily revolving companion, and let out a grunting noise that might charitably have been called a laugh. "Nice spell," he said, through a thick accent Harry couldn't quite place. He lowered his gaze once more. "Do not think it will help now."

The five Durmstrang still standing let out a barrage of spells almost faster than Harry and the others could react. Almost. Having realised their mistake, all three of them had had shield charms ready to cast, and cast them they did, resulting in an explosion of light as the spells ricocheted back and forth. When the light and smoke cleared, there were a few more pockmarks in the walls than there had been five minutes previously. Some of them were still smoking. On the down side, none of the Durmstrang students appeared to have been hit in the crossfire, apparently not stupid enough to go without shields themselves. Behind them, pressing herself up against the wall, Luna was visible through the hazy sheen of a shield charm, watching proceedings with her usual detached interest. Harry felt a stab of irritation at that; did she really not understand what was going on?

"You should not be interfering!" another of the Durmstrang group shouted, a girl this time, her eyes blazing. "The _bliad_ is _zloy ved'my_!"

Harry flicked his eyes towards Anthony, on his left. "What?"

"I think," his friend replied, confusion flickering across his face, "that they're calling her a dark witch."

Harry looked back at Luna; a tiny girl, really, although with out-sized eyes, and her constantly dazed expression didn't lend itself to the description of dark witch. "Seriously? Because that – that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Maybe _Quibbler_ means something else over there?" Terry suggested. "Maybe it's the incantation for some really foul curse?"

"Ok, _that's_ the stupidest thing I've heard," Anthony muttered.

"Luna?" Harry called out, ignoring them both. She focused her watery eyes on him, and smiled vaguely.

"Hello, Harry. Thank you for stopping by, I think I've irritated them a little. Not sure how…"

He waited a second, in case more was going to be said, but that appeared to be it. "Luna, do you know why they think you're a dark witch?"

"She supports Grindlewald!" the first one to have spoken to them spat. Harry almost choked at his words.

"Supports Grindlewald? Seriously? That's your…that's insane!"

"Yep. That's definitely the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Terry commented. On the other side, Anthony gave a murmured agreement. The burly Durmstrang student reached behind him, and grabbed the lapels on Luna's robes, dragging her forward sharply. Harry stepped towards them, raising his wand a fraction in warning.

"Show him your necklace," the wizard told her. Luna reached into her robes, looking supremely unconcerned, and pulled out a long gold chain, on which a brooch of some sort dangled. Harry couldn't make out the design. "Is Grindlewald's mark!"

Harry started to snap a response to that, but hesitated. He didn't believe for a moment that Luna was in any way dark inclined, but he knew for a fact that she believed all sorts of strange things, as did her father. It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that they might have some sort of crackpot idea that Grindlewald was simply misunderstood. "Luna…just out of curiosity, how would you describe Grindlewald?"

"Oh, not a very nice man at all, Harry. He certainly deserved everything Professor Dumbledore did to him." She was looking around, and he thought he could hear her humming rather tunelessly.

"Right, well, I think that clears that up," he said brightly. "Mistakes on all sides, least said soonest mended, no harm done? Hmm?"

The Durmstrang wizard just smirked, and shook his head. "My grandfather was killed by Grindlewald's followers. Will not let her walk round like this."

"Like what, may I ask?"

In all the years Harry had known him, however vaguely, Albus Dumbledore had not lost his penchant for mysterious appearances. Harry would have bet every one of the thousand galleon prize money that the Headmaster had not been in the corridor a second ago, yet there he stood, looking mildly over his pince-nez at the confrontation. Possibly worse, the Headmaster of Durmstrang was standing next to him, and he did not look happy at all.

There was a moment of silence, none of the various students quite able to work out how to start explaining it all. Then Karkaroff cancelled the spells on his students, and the suspended one fell to the floor in a heap, startling them all.

"Well? Dragomir, explain yourself!"

"This girl dishonours us, Master," the burly wizard said sullenly. "She carries Grindlewald's mark."

"Don't be ridiculous, boy!" Karkaroff scoffed, but Dumbledore had taken a step forward, reaching out to take Luna's shoulder.

"Miss Lovegood?"

"He thinks there's something wrong with my necklace, Professor," Luna told him, and she slipped it from round her neck to show it to him.

Harry was watching closely, and was perfectly positioned to see the shock that flashed across Dumbledore's face as he examined the necklace. Then his expression returned to its normal geniality as he handed the necklace back. "I believe I see the confusion, Igor. It is an old Saxon symbol; rather obscure, I have to say, but nothing to do with Grindlewald. I can understand your students reaction, but Miss Lovegood is not one of his supporters."

"We know his sign! We see it every day, he left it carved in the walls!" the witch who had called Luna a dark witch exclaimed. "No-one would wear it unless they believed in him!"

There was a hushed pause as Dumbledore turned his gaze on the girl, and although his expression did not appear to have changed in any meaningful way, his displeasure at her outburst was palpable.

"Igor, I realise that Durmstrang emphasises the practical over the theoretical, but surely it is safe to assume that your students are not entirely unfamiliar with recent world events? And so they might be expected to know that if anyone could be described as an expert on Grindlewald and his background, it would be – without wishing to promote myself, of course – me?"

"Dragomir and his companions are not my best," Karkaroff said stiffly. "Good at Quidditch. Good at Duelling. Not thinkers."

"Oh, I'm sure they would surprise you, Igor," Dumbledore said, his beard twitching slightly with the suggestion of a smile. "And as I said, I can see the confusion. Grindlewald took a shine to the Saxon runic systems in his time in Britain. His mark was a rather twisted version of this symbol, but still recognisable. An easy mistake to make, wouldn't you agree, Miss…?"

The girl stared at Dumbledore for a moment, clearly unwilling to admit defeat, before finally ducking her head. "Iveta. Iveta Skadi."

Dumbledore sketched a brief, polite bow to her. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear. If you are at all interested in runes, our library has an extensive collection of resources in that field. I am quite sure Harry here, for instance, would be happy to help you satisfy any curiosity you might have."

Harry started at this, but Skadi's expression suggested it was an offer he was unlikely to ever have to make good on, for which he was profoundly grateful. So he nodded, affecting a helpful expression. "Of course. Just let me know."

"And of course, I trust that this will be the last of such unpleasantness?" Dumbledore continued. "I would hate to have to take any disciplinary measures against visitors to the castle, but if needs must…"

"Do not worry, Albus." Karkaroff strode forward to stand amidst his students, who suddenly looked a whole lot smaller. "I will have words with all of them. Rest assured."

"Capital, my dear Igor. I knew this could all be sorted out amicably!"

"Although I must insist that you discipline your own, Albus. I do not see any of them with injuries, yes?"

Dumbledore cast a critical eye over Harry and his friends, and his beard twitched once more. "No indeed. Of course, you are quite right, Igor. Thirty points from Ravenclaw for conduct unbecoming of hosts."

All three of them, Harry knew, itched to say something to this, but they weren't Ravenclaws for nothing. They stayed quiet. Realistically, thirty points wasn't that much. They could probably count on making them back in a couple of days, given some favourable lessons. Karkaroff did not look as if the punishment satisfied him, but it was equally clear that he wasn't going to say anything more. Apparently it wasn't just students who were unnerved by Dumbledore. Karkaroff inclined his head, then spun on his heel, leading his students away. When they had disappeared, Dumbledore put his arm around Luna's shoulders.

"Are you quite alright, Miss Lovegood?"

"Oh yes, sir," she replied. "They didn't really do anything before my friends arrived."

"I am delighted to hear it! Now, if I might suggest that you escort Miss Lovegood back to your common room? And do keep an eye on her in the next few days, won't you? Not that I have any doubt of Headmaster Karkaroff's dedication to enforcing good behaviour in his students, of course. Oh, and boys?" Dumbledore flashed them a conspiratorial smile. "Thirty points to Ravenclaw for defending a fellow student. And a further ten for what must have been some formidable wand work."

They grinned in gratitude, and Dumbledore bowed in farewell before making his own way down the corridor, humming quietly to himself. Harry watched him go, pondering. "Anyone else think that was weird?"

"Well, yeah. Most of it," Terry said. "You ok, Lovegood?"

"Didn't you see Dumbledore though? When he looked at the necklace?"

"What about him?" Anthony asked, ignoring Terry and Luna.

"He recognised it. He was lying about it not meaning anything."

"So what?" Anthony said with a frown. "It really is Grindlewald's mark?"

They looked at Luna, chatting happily with Terry about something called Snorkacks. Then they looked at each other, and shook their heads. "Luna," Harry said, attracting her attention. "Your necklace – where'd you get it?"

"From my father. He's had it for years, he gave it to me to ward off homesickness. I don't believe that's real," she said, looking round as if to check that no-one was eavesdropping on matters of supreme importance, "but it made him happy."

"Ok…well, do you know where he got it?"

"Not really. He has some friends who have them as well. Something to do with Hallows. Or maybe Hollows." Luna trailed off for a moment, then shrugged. "I think it was Hallows."

"Can I see?" Harry asked. Luna nodded, handing him the necklace. The brooch was a triangle, with a circle contained inside it, and a straight line running from the tip to the base. There was something familiar about it, but Harry couldn't place it. "Hallows, you say?"

"I think so. Shall we go? I was going to do some stargazing tonight, the centaurs say that Mars is going to be very bright over the next few days."

Harry smiled at her, and handed the necklace back. "Sure."

The trio followed her as she skipped towards the common room, avoiding certain flagstones as if she was playing hopscotch. "So, did you recognise it?" Anthony asked Harry. He shook his head.

"From somewhere. Not sure what it is though. I'll look into it."

"Haven't you got more important things to be worrying about at the moment?" Terry said.

Harry grinned. "I'm sure I can spare a bit of time."

"If you say so."

"Oh, come on. How hard can it be?"


	13. The First Task

**A/N: **Heh. Been a while, right? Hope everyone can remember what was going on!

**Chapter 13: The First Task**

"_Absonitus!_"

Harry uttered the incantation with a wide flourish of his wand, finishing the arc with a forward thrust. The spell completed with what seemed to him a distant echo of an explosion, but was clearly more severe for Ron; the redhead dropped his wand to the floor with a clatter, clapping his hands to his ears with a grimace.

"Bloody hell!"

"You ok?" Harry asked in concern.

"Oh yeah, I'm just super," Ron snapped back with a glare. "Nothing makes my day like someone bursting my ear drums!"

"If I'd burst your ear drums, you wouldn't be able to hear what I'm saying," Harry pointed out. Ron stared at his friend for a long moment.

"Thanks for clearing that up, mate. Why am I helping you out again?"

"Because we've been best friends since we were four?"

"Remind me why again?"

"Because I'm going to do your next Potions essay for you?"

"And my next Divination project."

"Please," Harry scoffed. "You can do better on that when you make it up than anything I could do with a textbook."

"True," Ron said, his grin returning. "Seriously though, that's a nasty little hex. Should be good for the Tournament. Where'd you learn it?"

"My godfather taught it to me," Harry replied, running through the wand motions for the spell again. "Do you really think it'll work? It seems a little impractical…too unwieldy."

"I thought you were working on cutting out spell motions?"

"I am," Harry said, "but the First Task is in a few days. I'm not going to be able to do much on this before then."

"You might not even have to know any duelling spells, if you're lucky."

"I doubt that very much!"

"But you said there wasn't going to be any direct competition…"

"That's the theory. Can you really see Aramov turning down an opportunity to put me out of the running if she gets it though?"

"Fair point," Ron acknowledged with a nod of his head. "She's not a friendly looking girl, is she?"

"Definitely not." She certainly didn't talk much, Harry reflected. She hadn't said a single word to either him or Reynard at the Weighing of the Wands the day before. It probably helped that he and Reynard had had a conversation or two prior to being chosen as Champions, but the Beauxbatons student was far more personable. Although he had to be honest and acknowledge that he was hardly the first person any Durmstrang student was going to be trying to make conversation with, after the encounter with Dragomir and Skadi the week before. Nobody had tried to retaliate, but he – and indeed Anthony and Terry – had been getting some distinctly unpleasant looks.

"So…" Ron said as they gathered their bags together. "Talked to Hermione yet?

"How can I? She won't even look at me if she can help it!"

"She'll come around mate, don't worry."

"Huh." Harry slammed the door behind them as they left. "I'd be perfectly happy to apologise if she'd listen. I know I over-reacted, although she could have been a bit more tactful about the whole thing…"

"Why don't you owl her?" Ron suggested.

"I'm not that desperate," Harry replied. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Merlin forbid anyone think that. It's alright for you, you don't have to listen to her bitch about it all of an evening."

"Neither do you," Harry said. "You could go to the library and study."

"Are you mad? She'd follow me and there'd be nobody else to deflect her onto!"

"Your dorm, then?"

"Nope. Too cold at this time of year."

"There're these things called warming charms, Ron, heard of them?"

"Har har. You know what I mean. I'm not going to abandon my own bloody common room because you pair can't take the stick out of your arses."

"Fine," Harry sighed, throwing his hands up. "Tell her I want to talk to her, will you?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXX

The morning of the Task found Harry locked in the dorm bathroom, vomiting mightily. Standing up, and stumbling over to the mirror in a blurry haze of lingering nausea and sleepless night, he splashed cold water over his face in a bid to spark some life. He ran his hands through his hair, leaving wet strands plastered to his forehead, drips running to his glasses.

"What the hell are you doing, Potter?" he asked himself.

"I know, dearie," the mirror replied sympathetically. "I'd shave it all off and start again if I were you. Definitely a lost cause."

"For God's sake…"

He turned away, dismissing the mirror with an irritated swipe of his hand. It was one of the few enchantments around the castle that he hadn't at least looked into, although it was by no means the only one that he couldn't replicate. He'd never seen the point of a bathroom mirror enchanted to insult you – although it had occurred to him that the enchantment had been modified by some enterprising former student.

Back in the dorm, he started getting ready. The Champions had all been presented with official Tournament robes at the Wand Weighing ceremony, and Harry had spent a few intriguing hours poring over the enchantments woven into the cloth. His excitement at receiving them though had turned to something better resembling dread now though. Once he had finished robing, he left the dorm and made his way downstairs, through the castle and out towards the tent by the Quidditch pitch that had been put aside as the Champions waiting area. It was only when he got there that he realised that he was nearly an hour early. Sighing, he sat down and drew his wand. He threw it across the tent, and stretched out his hand.

"_Reviens, baguette!_"

He scowled slightly as the wand zipped across the floor back to him. The spell was working better than ever, but it still wasn't working quite as he intended. Picking it up, he threw it again.

He had been practicing the spell for about half an hour when someone pulled open the tent flap, letting in the sound of the crowd that was starting to assemble in the Quidditch stadium.

"Morning, kiddo!"

Harry looked up with a wide grin. "Hi, Remus!"

The older wizard slipped into the tent, letting the flap come down behind him. He looked more dishevelled than usual, and a scar that looked more recent than the faded ones Harry was used to. He smiled across at Harry. "How are you feeling? Excited?"

Harry's grin faded. "Nervous. Terrified, actually. We're still not entirely sure what they're going to throw at us."

"You're going to be fine, Harry," Remus said, walking across to sit down next to him. "More than fine. You're going to be brilliant."

"We'll see," Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Are mum and dad here too?"

"And Sirius," Remus said, nodding. "I came on ahead – it seemed like you might want to talk about this away from them. That rune you asked me about?"

"Yeah!" Harry exclaimed, perking up. "I've looked through pretty much every book on runes in the Library, and I can't find it at all. Did you recognise it?"

"Of course. It was Grindlewald's mark. It's in every book ever written about him."

Harry fell silent, staring at Remus in shock. "But…Dumbledore said it didn't have anything to do with him. He _specifically_ said that it wasn't his mark!"

"Then he was lying," Remus said with a shrug. "Surely you can see why he might not want people thinking he lets his students wander round bearing the mark of a legendary Dark wizard?"

"Well yeah. I just…"

Remus cocked his head, watching attentively as Harry tried to find the words. "I get _why_ he'd lie about it, why anyone would lie about it. I just didn't think he would, that's all. I assumed he was telling the truth."

"Never assume anything about anyone, Harry. We all have secrets. And Dumbledore hasn't ever claimed to be perfect, despite his reputation. He'd probably be the first to say the opposite, actually."

"I guess," Harry muttered. "So what does it actually mean? Beyond general support for Grindlewald, I mean."

"I rather doubt the Lovegoods' actually intend it as a gesture of support for Grindlewald, Harry," Remus said. "There doesn't seem to be any particular meaning to it though. I looked into the Hallows – and the Hollows, thought I'd cover all bases – and there's nothing that I can find about them. I'd be tempted to say that they're one of Xeno Lovegood's crackpot ideas, if I'm honest."

"You're probably right," Harry replied. The idea depressed him somehow. It all seemed rather anticlimactic.

"Why so interested, anyway?"

Harry paused for a moment before answering. "I don't really know. Curiosity, I suppose. There was a puzzle and I wanted the answer."

"If ever proof were needed that you're Lily's son," Remus said, chuckling slightly. It drew a reluctant smile from Harry. At that, Remus stood up, stretching slightly. "I'd better leave you to it. Don't want anyone suggesting impropriety, do we?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, confused.

"Oh, you'll find out…Enjoy the Task. You'll be great!" With that, Remus left the tent, a mischievous smile on his face that did little to fill Harry with confidence. Before he could ponder the matter further though, his fellow Champions arrived. Reynard greeted him with a wave and a nod, but was clearly preoccupied himself; he sat down on one of the other benches, tapping his wand against his thigh in a nervous fashion. Aramov was an entirely different matter. She all but sauntered in, sparing her rivals only a stone blank expression before taking her own bench and closing her eyes, giving every impression of being asleep. She hadn't bothered with the cloak to her robes, and since Durmstrang apparently deemed heavy and black the only acceptable colour scheme, she looked rather like an admittedly eccentric priest than a witch. It was certainly a sharp contrast with Harry and Reynard, both in different shades of blue.

"Ready for this, Harry?" Reynard asked softly, not quite looking at him. Harry turned his eyes towards him; the French wizard was looking a little paler than normal, and if he tapped his wand any harder it was going to break.

"I don't know," he replied. "I spent most of this morning throwing up, if I'm honest." As he spoke, he realised that his nausea hadn't quite passed, and he had to pause to take a breath or two. "I keep thinking about all the different tasks they've had. Heard a few horror stories, you know?"

"I grew up hearing about the Tournament, about my great grand-uncle," Reynard said, still staring into thin air. "It's…it's a lot of pressure, I think. My family are not a powerful one, and having a Champion in our bloodline is important to us. Two is a great honour."

"You don't sound entirely convinced," Harry said.

Reynard smiled weakly. "Let us see how I feel after the Task, yes?"

There was a derisive snort from across the tent, and the two wizards looked across at their silent companion, but Aramov had closed her eyes once more, clearly not willing to engage them at all.

"Charming girl…" Harry muttered. "You'll be fine, Reynard. Honest."

"What about you, Harry? Is this an honour for you?"

"I…think calling it an honour is a stretch," he said, thinking it over. "I don't know. When I put my name in, I was thinking more about what it could get me – money, obviously, but more the opportunities, you know? And there was this other guy I didn't want getting chosen. I don't think I could bear it if he'd been Champion, he's a real prick."

"Who is this?"

Harry and Reynard stared at Aramov in shock. She had opened one eye, and was looking at Harry with the closest thing to a proper expression he had yet seen from her, something that almost resembled curiosity.

"Hi. I'm Harry, this is Reynard. I don't think we've been properly introduced. Nice to meet you!"

Curiosity turned to contempt. "You are not as funny as you think you are. Who were you talking about?"

For a moment, Harry debated ignoring her question in favour of continuing his conversation as if the interruption had never happened; in the end though, the fact that she had actually spoken three complete sentences to other human beings overruled his irritation at her rudeness. "Boy called Malfoy. Don't know if you'd have met him."

"Blond, yes?"

"Extremely blond."

"You are right. He is a prick."

And with that, she shut her eyes again. Harry and Reynard watched her for a moment, wondering if anything further was forthcoming, but she seemed to have exhausted her conversational supply.

"Right…sorry, where was I? Yeah, Malfoy. Didn't want to spend the year watching him strut around like the greatest thing since the self-stirring cauldron."

"A noble motive," Reynard said solemnly.

"I thought so. Really impressed my dad, at least," Harry said with a grin, recalling the night the Goblet had chosen him.

"Is he not often impressed with you?"

"Oh, that's not what I mean. It's just…" Harry hesitated. "We don't have a massive amount in common, I guess. Like, we're both really good at Transfiguration, but while he'd understand all the latest theories if they were explained to him, he's not interested enough to research it on his own. Or me, I'm quite good on a broom, but I get really bored by Quidditch. Does that make sense?"

Reynard did not get the chance to answer; the tent flap was swept aside to reveal the three heads of schools. Dumbledore strode inside, a twinkle in his eye and beaming smile on his lips.

"Good morning, Champions. Are you all ready?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The vortex created by the Portkey was a disorienting kaleidoscope of colour and sound, spinning Harry faster and faster and faster, seeping through eyes he could not close and ringing in his ears until the shouts and cheers of the crowd were simply white noise inside his head…until, after a seemingly endless moment, the vortex spat him out.

He fell to the ground, bounced, rolled down a sharp incline before coming to a sudden halt against something dishearteningly solid. Harry lay there for a moment, the still dew-damp grass beneath him pleasantly soothing against his head, wondering, not for the first time that morning – that hour – how he could have been so stupid.

The Task seemed simple, in principle. He, Reynard and Aramov had each been Portkeyed to one of the mountains on the other side of the lake. All they had to do was get back to Hogwarts, as quickly and efficiently as possible. It had not exactly been stated, but the trio all knew that it would not be as simple as finding a path and enjoying a morning stroll.

When the pounding inside his skull had subsided, Harry raised his head. He was in a misty dell, surrounded by brittle trees; it looked rather like one had cracked all together in the chaos of his arrival. Pushing himself to his feet, he glanced at his watch. At most, only a couple of minutes had passed since he had touched the Portkey back at the castle. It could be worse, but he rather suspected that both Reynard and Aramov were more physically inclined than he was, and that while their landings might have been equally as rough, they would have bounced back a little quicker.

He still had time though. The obvious direction was down, but before he started his descent, he clambered back up the slope he had been thrown down initially. At the top, the mist parted a little, and a quick charm cleared more of it, enough for him to be able to see Hogwarts beneath him. He was on the easterly mountain, not the tallest on the range, but not the shortest either. Not that that gave him much clue of how evenly matched they all were; there were far more than three mountains surrounding the lake, so Reynard and Aramov could have been on any of them.

"Right. Come on, Potter. Quickest way back to the castle." He tapped his wand against his chin for a moment, thinking as rapidly as his still ringing head would allow. He could attempt to summon a broom, but he was easily two or three miles from the castle, and even if he could get the spell to extend that far, he wasn't sure that the protective enchantments around the castle might not interfere. As entertaining as the image of a broomstick exploding into splinters above the crowd was…no. That option was out. He cocked his head, considering another angle. It certainly wasn't in the spirit of the Tournament, but it wasn't against the rules, and it would at least appeal to Dumbledore's sense of humour. Besides, one of the cardinal rules he had picked up over the years was that nothing is ever too simple to try.

He took a step back, and stuck out his wand. He waited patiently for five seconds, ten. Then he shrugged and lowered his arm. "No Knight Bus then." It had been worth a try, but on foot it was.

He made his way more carefully back down the slope, pausing for a moment by the fragments of the shattered tree. Picking one of the sturdier twigs, nice and thick but only two or three inches long, he placed it in his left palm, and held the tip of his wand against it. First, he scorched one end, just enough to be noticeable. Then he began to chant:

"_Deregere locus. Deregere locus._"

The twig twitched a little, then spun round until the scorched end was pointing behind him, back up the incline. The most direct route to Hogwarts, although clearly not a practical one. Smiling in satisfaction at a tricky charm done well, Harry set off.

A few feet down the path, and he tripped over a root hidden under a pile of leaves. Immediately alert to some sort of danger, he sprang up wand at the ready, clutching his makeshift dowser as tightly as he dared to make sure he did not lose it. However, it quickly became apparent that there was no other threat beyond his own clumsiness; feeling a little foolish, and aware that there were certain charms in place relaying their every move back to the spectators, he set off again. As he walked, it amazed him how quickly the Task was becoming tedious. The path was clear, and as yet there had been nothing really to worry about. He wasn't going to complain, but it was a marked contrast to the horror stories they had heard about the previous year's wraith. The thought made him pause, and he held up his wand, letting out a burst of magic. The charm revealed nothing though. At least in this part of the mountain forest, he was alone.

About five minutes later, he tripped over another root. He stood up a little less nimbly this time, cursing under his breath, and shot a glare at the pile of leaves that had disguised the obstacle. And then he stopped, and took a long look around. He wasn't someone who really went out into forests that often, but even acknowledging his lack of practical experience, the forest around him looked very familiar. He cursed himself for not paying better attention to his surroundings. Had he been walking in a circle? It seemed impossible; the path's decline was not steep by any stretch, but it was apparent nonetheless. He would surely have noticed if he had started going back uphill again.

He laid the dowser flat in his palm again. It was no longer pointing straight west, now following a more north-westerly line, so he had clearly moved a certain distance. Harry looked back at the tree the dangerous root belonged to, and frowned. He aimed his wand, giving a rapid little flick.

"_Flagrate!_"

A small, burning cross appeared on the tree, burning without heat or danger of burning the tree down while he wasn't looking. Satisfied for the moment, Harry set off again, casting a last look back at the tree as he went. He timed himself this time, a half-formed suspicion hovering in his head. After about five minutes walking, definitely going downhill, following a distinct curve but not doubling back on himself, he came upon a tree with a small, burning cross etched into it, shining brightly through the still heavy mist. Harry allowed himself a wry little smile.

"Hm. Nasty little thing. _Delustratus Casus! Delustratus Casus!_"

He kept on repeating the spell, waving his wand in a wide arc around him, and the mist began to dissipate. The light from the sun, hitherto obscured between the thick, curling trees and mist, began to shine a little brighter – and the ringing in his head finally stopped completely. As the mist finally vanished, Harry took a moment to admire the enchantment. A never-ending path laid over the forest, and a secondary enchantment to cloud his senses to prevent him noticing, which he hadn't noticed clouding his judgement in the first place because of the violence of his landing. He could have wound up wandering around the forest for hours. A quick glance at his watch reassured him that while he had been wandering around the endless, recursive path for a fair amount of time, he could still make up the shortfall.

Then something hit him with roughly the same speed and force as a car, throwing him several feet through the trees. He landed against something solid – _again_ – gasping in shock and pain, but before he could even begin to recover that something solid bucked, catapulting him through the air again. He landed face down, but immediately pushed himself away, acting on some instinct he didn't quite understand. He was rewarded with the sound of something hitting the ground where he had fallen with enough force to crack bones. He rolled further, coming to rest against something rockier, and he sat up, straightening his glasses. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings.

The trees that he hadn't quite been able to see properly under the enchantment were Whomping Willows. Dozens of them, swaying menacingly. As he watched, one of them stabbed a branch towards him, but he was just out of reach.

"Bloody hell…" He sat back against the boulder, letting out a sigh and reaching for his dowser. The stick swivelled in his palm, pointing back through the cluster of Willows. "Of course. Brilliant."

Harry took a moment to look around the forest. Not all the trees were Willows, but enough of them were. He could probably find the edge of the cluster if he walked for long enough, but it would be a long detour that at this stage he could probably ill afford. He really only had one course of action. He stood up, tucked his dowser into his robes, squared his jaw. Then he darted forward, wand at the ready.

The Willow nearest him immediately lashed out, but he was ready for it, a swipe of his wand and a cry of "_Immobilus!_" the tree froze; he ducked under the hovering branch and ran on. Two more branches swung at him, one high one low, and he made a ducking jump between them, reflecting absently that it was probably the most athletic thing he had ever done. He landed on his feet, but stumbled, and another branch whipped around his ankle, dragging him into the air.

"_Relashio!_" The Willow spasmed, dropping him. He landed on his back, and quickly snapped off another spell. Before the Willow could attack him again, its wood was cracking, freezing, branches juddering to a halt as it was transfigured to stone. Harry grinned, pushing himself back to his feet and turning to carry on. Another branch from a different tree was whipping towards him, and he repeated the transfiguration with a dismissive flick of his wand. It worked too well; the branch turned to stone in mid-air, but kept on coming. Harry's eyes widened.

"_Protego!_"

The branch slammed into the shimmering air in front of him, little splinters of rock breaking off under the force of the impact. Harry let out a long, scared breath. If that had hit him, level with his head as it was…no amount of wizardly robustness would have saved him from having his face caved in. He took another breath.

"Ok, Potter. Slow down a moment. Use your brain…"

The partially transfigured tree was out of the equation, at least, the stone branch weighing it down too much to attack him. Unless he retreated, the Willows behind shouldn't be a problem. That left…he pulled out the dowser again, checking his path for the most direct line, and did a quick count of ten trees that he needed to get past. Harry closed his eyes for a moment. Then he lowered the shield, cautiously, slowly. Some of the nearer trees quivered, and the Willow with the stone branch flexed ominously, but sagged back into inactivity.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. He was safe for the moment, but he could hardly stay where he was. So what were his options? He could encase the trees in ice, although he wasn't entirely certain that they wouldn't be able to break out if the branches were able to move even slightly – and if they shattered any ice surrounding them, then he would be in danger both from the vicious branches and icy shards flying around. He could petrify them, although that was a long winded process; perhaps his safest, and it would probably win him points for style, but it might be too time consuming. He could burn them, of course. Not the most elegant solution, and running through a group of flaming trees would not be fun, but it was probably the most efficient choice available to him.

He nodded decisively. Fire it was. He raised his wand, and began spitting out little blue balls of flame. Whether the wood was damp, or there was some quality of the trees that resisted magic, or whether the little fireballs simply didn't burn hot enough, it took several of them for the trees to finally catch, but catch they did, beginning to flail in something like agony as the flames climbed higher. Harry did not start to move immediately, first pausing to layer some flame-freezing charms on top of them. Only once he was sure he wasn't going to catch fire himself did he set off at a brisk pace. The Willows did not attack, still – if the term could be used – frantic with pain, although a few of their branches came close to hitting him accidentally. Within minutes though, he was through the flames and out the other side, unharmed.

He turned to look back at the Willows, an expression of triumph on his face, but his grin faltered as he realised the flames were licking at other, normal trees beyond the Willows; how could he not have considered that possibility? He quickly raised his wand, alternating between extinguishing charms and simply applying more traditional freezing spells to the flames. It didn't take long before the trees were safe, a little scorched and in some cases still sporting some quite beautiful if weirdly shaped icicles, but safe. Shaking his head at the additional hold up, Harry set off once more.

Lower down the mountain, after he had been jogging for nearly twenty minutes, the path began to be obscured by mist once more. He slowed down, working the same charm he had performed earlier, but this appeared to be a purely natural mist, although it seemed to coincidental not to be obscuring something hazardous. Harry stopped for a moment, raising his wand above his head.

"_Hominum revelio!_"

The charm rippled around him, but revealed nothing. Satisfied, he set off again, although walking rather than jogging. There might not be anything sentient waiting to rip his throat out, but that didn't mean that there weren't more concealed Willows, for example.

As the path started to level out from the decline he had been following since leaving the Whomping Willows, the mist began to thicken, which seemed even more suspicious. He repeated the Revealing Charm, but once again, nothing sprang up. Still cautious, he slowed even more, casting an Extra-Sensory Charm on himself. The precaution paid dividends mere minutes later, when something began to growl.

He immediately stopped, whirling around, his wand at the ready. He couldn't see anything, and a further repetition of the Revealing Charm showed nothing around him. But what had growled? He hadn't imagined it, he was certain of that. With a flick of his wand, he cast a ball of light away from him; it didn't show much through the mist, but _something_ moved, barely visible. Another quick spell conjured a breeze, shifting the mist around, but even with clearer vision he couldn't see anything.

Then something leapt at him, snarling, and knocked him to the ground. It bit down at his face, and he threw his arm in the way, dropping his dowser in the process. He was shocked to find that the bite didn't actually hurt, per se, but a bone deep chill spread through his forearm. He stabbed his wand upwards, gasping out an incantation, and the creature was blasted apart. He lay there for a split second, shocked both by the attack and the effect of his wound, but also what had happened to it; the Banishing Charm simply did not work like that!

He pushed himself upright, wincing as the chill in his arm deepened. Cold instead of an actual wound, it didn't show up when a Revealing Charm was cast, and solid enough to knock him down, but insubstantial enough to be…dispersed seemed the most accurate way of putting it. The growling resumed as he followed his train of thought to one conclusion: a Gytrash. That explained the mist, as well – there was no point trying to banish it so long as the Gytrash was around. It also finally explained Remus' comment about impropriety; the obstacles he had thus far faced smacked of the older wizard's personal interests, and it seemed likely that he had been involved in planning the Task to some degree.

The growling began to circle around him, and he started to run possibilities. Direct offense would be ineffective, as the Banishing Charm had shown, although in a pinch it would disperse the creature for a bit. Fire and light were his most promising avenues. He raised his wand, light streaming from the tip, squinting against the light reflected back off the mist. What he saw did not raise his spirits. It wasn't a Gytrash.

It was a whole pack of them. And they all looked hungry.

"I swear, Remus, if you did have anything to do with this…_Lumos_!"

The light from his wand intensified, and the pale, insubstantial dog like creatures backed away a little, their growling rising a little in pitch. That wouldn't hold them off forever though, and Harry began to move away himself, watching them carefully. The Gytrash started to move with him, staying just at the edge of the beam's reach. When they started to spread out, clearly trying to encircle him, Harry switched tactics quickly, a single sweep of his wand causing a line of fire to erupt from the ground in front of the spectral hounds. The Gytrash leapt away, and Harry turned and ran harder than he had done for a long time.

Behind him, the growls turned to howls, and he knew the Gytrash were following him. His mind raced, raising and dismissing tactics as quickly as he ran. Close behind him, his Extra Sensory charm picked up a louder thud of paws, and he ducked instinctively; he felt a rush of air as one of the Gytrash leapt over him. It landed hard in front of him, and spun round, its jaws bared – Harry snapped up his wand, and hit it with a ball of fire. The Gytrash's snarl turned to a whimper of pain, and it fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Harry ran on, looking back to see how the flames lasted. The Gytrash abruptly vanished, but he couldn't tell whether it had died – if they could die, he wasn't entirely certain on that score – or whether it had just dispersed like the first that had attacked him. It didn't really matter; it was swiftly replaced by three more. Harry swore and ran on.

Fire worked, if not instantly, but by the time he'd hexed one of them another would probably be on top of him. He could be a little less specific, but he wouldn't have time to stop the flames spreading if he tried that, and the line of fire he had initially used would be basically pointless in his current circumstances. Light, then. A Lumos charm wouldn't be any use, because the beam wouldn't spread far enough without him standing still. The little balls of light he'd been using since his first year weren't overly useful; he could throw them where he liked, but they stayed still without other enchantments on them which would take too long…although…

He whirled and whipped his wand around in one motion, and a glimmering ball of light sprung from his wand, flying towards the leading Gytrash. It stuck to its chest, and the creature howled louder, falling aside to paw at the ball clinging to it. Harry grinned, and flicked his wand again, more light spitting out to stick to the other two Gytrash. They broke off their pursuit, howling in common with their pack mate. Three down, then, but there were more somewhere.

Harry ran on, listening intently for the rest of the pack. It took him a moment to realise that he could see the Lake through the trees – he had reached the bottom of the mountain. He couldn't be that far from the castle now. Finding reserves he didn't know he had, he quickened his pace. Which was when the Gytrash that he hadn't seen, that hadn't been growling or snarling or otherwise doing anything the charm might pick up burst out of the trees. It knocked him to the ground, letting out an angry sounding whine, and leapt at him again. Its paws landed against his chest, and it seemed like it had claws, sinking deep into his chest. Harry let out a gasp of pain as his lungs were filled with a deep chill, snatching his breath away, but he just about managed to let out a Banishing charm. It blew the spectre apart, as before, but before he could get to his feet a second Gytrash had appeared, snapping and biting at his face. He rolled away, pointing his wand and letting light burst forth. The Gytrash wheeled away, and Harry pushed himself to his feet, snapping off another ball of light; it stuck to the spectre, which ran back into the trees, snapping at its own hind quarters to get the ball away.

He looked around frantically, but there were no other Gytrash visible. Fighting his initial instinct, he stayed where he was, taking a moment to attach some of the baubles to his arms and legs. With any luck, the precaution would stop the Gytrash attacking him again, or at least make them a little more wary of getting too close. Only then did he set off again, the trees getting noticeably fewer the further he went. His sprint had set his lungs burning, an unfamiliar sensation for the bookish boy, but at least it seemed to be countering the spectral chill the Gytrash had afflicted him with.

He burst through the tree line with a triumphant cry – only to be once again blindsided. The sunlight that he had seen glinting off the Lake through the trees had dimmed, and mist was beginning to surround him once again. He started to push himself up, but another Gytrash landed on his back, pushing him back down. He rolled, hearing another harsh whine, and looked up through his askew glasses. His heart sank. Almost the whole pack was stalking out of the mist, although if he'd counted correctly, it looked like the three he had seen off further back in the forest had not returned, which was somewhat satisfying.

There was a tense moment, neither Harry nor any of the Gytrash moving…then he whipped his wand in a circular movement around himself, a blazing coil of flame erupting towards the spectres. They leapt back, growling, and Harry darted up and forwards. They were charging after him before he even had time to consider it, snapping at his heels, and out of the corner of his eyes he could see some of them trying to outpace him.

Then one of them managed to land a bite, its jaws closing round his heel. As before, it didn't especially hurt, but the chill all but froze his leg, and he fell once more. The Gytrash bayed in triumph – and Harry's mind flashed on a half-remembered lecture Professor Underwood had given them, two or three years previously. He closed his eyes tight, and thrust his wand up: "_Lucis Diem_!"

Even through his closed eyes, the flash of light was blinding. He opened his eyes cautiously, looking around. There were a few wisps of smoke, suggesting the closer Gytrash had been evaporated entirely, and he could see a couple more disappearing back into the trees.

He let out a deep breath, and let his head fall gently back to the ground. He really hadn't enjoyed his day at all.


End file.
